


fly away with me

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Mark, Bilbo is So Done, Companion Mark, Dragon Sickness, Dragon Thorin Oakenshield, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which Bilbo's mark takes him on an unexpected journey to find a dragon and, just maybe, himself along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

If you were to ask the residents of Hobbiton what sort of hobbit Mister Bilbo Baggins was, they would likely tell you he is… odd.

Unsociable.

Missus Chubb might say _that boy was never quite right but it’s hardly his fault. That mother of his seemed bound to set him on a life of adventure but perhaps she’d had one too many for herself._

Mister Proudfoot would likely say _strange lad, very strange, has been since the day he was born and that won’t be changing, no matter how old he gets._

Mister Gamgee would tell you _Mister Bilbo’s the finest hobbit a gardener could ask to work for and an even finer friend and I’d best not hear you speakin’ ill of him ‘round me or you’ll be banned from partakin’ in my moonshine!_

Yes, Bilbo Baggins is odd.

From the day he was born hobbits wondered what to make of him. Son of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins, no odder pair to be found in the Shire. One an adventurer, another a layabout with a high sense of propriety. Surely such a mix would not result in a babe that knew what to make of his world. And indeed, Bilbo never seemed to grow right into his overlarge feet.

As a lad he had been filled with the idea of adventure, of seeing elves and getting into great battles with wizards and dragons. He had sought out journeys mostly on his own and far from home, coming back covered in mud and leaves, his mother laughing and his father tsk-tsking.

He hadn’t grown out of it at the age it was deemed proper to and the residents of Hobbiton had shaken their heads at him even when he hadn’t been causing trouble. Stealing corn and tomatoes out of the fields had seemed the right thing to do at the time when he had thought burglars led fascinating lives.

His burgling days had come to an end when his father found out what he’d been up to in his tweens.

His adventuring days had come to an end when his father passed away not long after.

Bilbo had grown into his feet a bit better after that, much to the approval of his fellow hobbits, even if they still whispered about his oddness when he hadn’t cried at his mother’s burial when he came of age. They would whisper _still odd, that one, doesn’t feel anything properly, won’t someone guide him to be a better hobbit now that his parents are gone?_

And Bilbo would politely tell them to sod off after that because he was a grown hobbit now and grown hobbits can do that sort of thing when the vultures come circling what scraps are left. He ostracized himself from what very few friends and supportive family members he had and became a recluse, ignoring the way he could hear his mother sighing and his father tsk-tsking through the halls of Bag End. What had she wanted for him besides adventure? And him, propriety?

Yet when the mourning had stopped throughout the village, he would still hear whispers.

Mister Sackville-Baggins would say _he hasn’t got his mark yet, you can see it in his eyes._

Missus Brandybuck might whisper _he’s not going to find what we all find, what a shame, I thought he would have the best one of all of us._

Mister Gamgee would certainly say _Mister Bilbo’s mark is none of your business, you clucking hens. Whether he’s got one or not, every hobbit has a right to privacy._

Bilbo would ignore the twinge in his heart to know that they were right. That he hadn’t gotten his yet and with each passing year, further and further from his coming of age, he likely wouldn’t.

He knew he was odd and he knew they were right but sometimes he’d look at the stars and ask them exactly what they had in store for him, because surely he had a path?

The path that all animal marks gave, whether it was a rabbit hopping across someone’s chest or a turtle peeking out of its shell on someone’s shoulder. The longing that came with the mark, the longing to find your animal companion, to find your path, your destiny. They were meant to lead you down the road to happiness once you’d come of age.

Bilbo, on his fortieth birthday, had decided that the Valar simply didn’t favor him and that he would have to create his own path.

Oddness, while frowned upon, had one benefit.

Choice.

——

Today, Bilbo is not thinking of his path, but rather his begonias. There are no odd thoughts flitting in one ear and out the other, no strange moods to take over his day, no longing for adventure.

Today, Bilbo is a perfectly ordinary hobbit.

He waters the bright orange flowers and smiles as the droplets catch on the petals and shine brilliantly in the sun.

If there is anything he’s proud of, it would be his garden. Being a recluse has its advantages - his garden is certainly the best in all of Hobbiton. It’s overflowing with flowers and bushes, a full vegetable garden, and fruit trees grow along the path winding around the side of his smial. He can see the envy on his fellow hobbits’ faces when they walk past his smial for just a glimpse of his paradise and thinks _how’s odd doing for_ you?

He finishes in the garden and cooks himself a feast for luncheon. A thick, hearty roast, with red potatoes smothered in butter and herbs, and fresh asparagus with grated hard white cheese. And it wouldn’t do to not have a few heirloom tomatoes on the side. Or a white cake with delicate icing and sugared plums dotting the top of it.

It is his fiftieth birthday after all.

Bilbo eats and thoroughly enjoys it and forces himself to ignore the fact that it’s by himself. He doubts any hobbits even remember it’s his birthday besides a few family members and they know better than to make any sort of fuss about it. Birthdays are a day where you’re meant to be selfish, not giving, and Bilbo enjoys his privacy above all else.

After he’s had his fill, he cleans up and sits in his favorite armchair with a pipe and a book. And when the pipe is finished, he thinks that it’s perfectly reasonable for a short kip.

His dreams are filled with breaths made of fire and glowing embers for eyes and scales as dark as night, wings that blot out the sun.

Bilbo jerks awake and blinks blearily as he looks around the sitting room. His heart is racing and his back feels as if it’s on fire. He supposes it’s enough of a warm autumn day for him to have gotten too hot sitting in his chair and once the fog has lifted, he stands and goes to the kitchen for a glass of cool water.

His back tingles and burns and grows itchy the longer he ignores it.

He sips his water and frowns.

It’s only been two days since his short bout through the Old Forest and he has a strange inkling that perhaps he had picked something up there. A rash of some sort that he hasn’t noticed, that is irritated from sitting in his armchair.

Bilbo huffs a little and sets the glass aside. He pushes his braces off of his shoulders as he walks out of the kitchen and to his bedroom. Once he’s in front of his mirror, he frowns at himself for a fanciful thought that appears. He’s far too old and it’s far too late. It simply _must_ be a rash.

He takes his shirt off and lets out a heavy sigh before he turns and looks over his shoulder into the mirror. He quickly turns straight again and stares very hard at himself, his heart hammering away as a cold sweat breaks out across his skin.

“Impossible,” he whispers and tries not to panic. “It’s _impossible.”_

Closing his eyes tightly, Bilbo counts to ten before he turns again and looks into the mirror.

“Goodness,” Bilbo says as he sways, the image of black scales and glowing amber eyes coming back to him.

Wings large enough to blot out the sun.

Bilbo giggles.

And then, quite suddenly, everything goes black, and he wonders if the dragon has come to whisk him away.

——  
  
Bilbo wakes sometime later with a sense of urgency he doesn’t understand and stares up at the ceiling for a while. It does occur to him that he’s lying on the floor in front of his bed rather than in it and he slowly sits up, his head spinning. He looks into the mirror at his shirtless self and sees his eyes widen.

He gasps as he shuffles around and looks over his shoulder.

It’s still there.

A dragon.

It’s massive, covering more than half of his back, its wings spread from one shoulder to the next, its long tail following the length of Bilbo’s spine. He can’t make out much detail in its face until he gets a smaller mirror and holds it up to his shoulder, standing close to the other mirror.

The dragon’s eyes are still amber and look like liquid fire within the dark scales surrounding it. It has horns and many small spikes on its face, with a long pointed snout, all the deepest black. There are four legs and Bilbo thinks the dragon looks frighteningly solid and stocky, quite unlike the long, thin dragons he’s used to seeing in books. It looks as if someone has inked it into his skin, it is so breathtakingly life-like.

He swallows dryly as he sets the mirror aside and stares at the wall.

The Valar must be laughing at him. To give him his mark nearly twenty years late and to have it be a dragon of all creatures. Dragons aren’t in every corner of the world and already Bilbo feels the longing in his heart trying to pull him far, far away. He needs help, he thinks, some kind of guidance.

But who on earth in the Shire can guide him in this? There will be even more whispers if the wrong person sees his mark and he feels queasy at the thought. There are very, very few people he would trust to keep their mouths shut.

Bilbo snaps his fingers. “Hamfast!”

And he’s off once he has his shirt back on, not bothering to get dressed any finer than a day in the garden. He runs through the smial and out of it, hopping his fence and tearing down the lane. He passes Mister Grubb, who merely scowls and shakes his head, as hobbits are wont to do whenever Bilbo is acting particularly odd, and he cannot help but laugh.

He can imagine the scandal his mark would cause across the Shire easily enough and while it fills him with dread, he rather likes the thought of the initial shock. It might turn Fortinbras’s hair more grey and wither the very fabric of Lobelia’s favorite green and yellow dresses.

Bilbo realizes he’s grinning when he slides to a stop in front of Hamfast’s door. He coughs a little and straightens himself out before rapping quickly on the door. He waits a moment and knocks again.

“Comin’, comin’!” Hamfast calls from somewhere within the smial as Bilbo taps his foot on the ground.

Hamfast opens the door and frowns. “Mister Bilbo! You look in a right state!”

“Yes, yes, I do,” Bilbo says as he tries to gain his breath back. “Which is precisely what I must speak with you about in… in private, if you please.”

“O’course,” Hamfast says as he opens the door further and gestures Bilbo in. “Bell’s off with the little ones to my mam’s so I might be able to clean up their messes a bit.”

“You have six children, Ham, it’ll never be clean!” Bilbo says as he grasps Hamfast’s shoulders and lightly shakes them. “We need the bathroom!”

Hamfast gapes. “What lit a fire under your feet today, Mister Bilbo?”

“The bathroom, Hamfast!”

“Right,” Hamfast says as he adjusts his braces. He gestures and they’re off down the hall to one of the bathrooms. Hamfast and Bell’s, if the lack of mess means anything.

Bilbo grabs the door and shuts and locks it before he whirls around to face Hamfast. Hamfast is peering at him with concern but open kindness as well and Bilbo knows he hasn’t made a mistake in trusting him.

“Something has,” Bilbo starts, “something has… happened.”

“Aye,” Hamfast agrees. “Is it your mark?”

Bilbo gapes at Hamfast this time. “How on earth— well yes! How do you know that?”

“Not a mind reader, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast says as he holds up his hands, but he’s smiling. “Only, I remember the feelin’ of gettin’ mine like it was yesterday. I recognize the look.”

Bilbo swallows dryly and nods. “Oh,” he sighs. “It’s… well, I’m quite old, aren’t I?”

“Old!” Hamfast snickers. “You’re in the prime of your life! It might be a bit late but that only means you’re more experienced and ready to handle it!”

Giggling rather hysterically, Bilbo snaps his braces. “Oh yes,” he says, “ready to handle it. Only, the thing is, I’m not.”

Hamfast watches Bilbo curiously. “Hmm,” he hums and narrows his eyes. “Not… the usual sort of animal?”

“Certainly not.”

“Sharper teeth than usual?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well, your great-great-great uncle had that bear of his…”

“It’s not a bear! It’s much, much, much bigger!” Bilbo hollers. “And far more likely to kill me than not!”

Hamfast doesn’t react quite like Bilbo expects him to. He merely nods and raises his eyebrows. “Well, best show it then. We’ll figure it out, Mister Bilbo, you aren’t the only one with an unusual mark.”

Bilbo snorts. “Just give me a moment,” he mutters and slides his braces off. He unbuttons his shirt and closes his eyes briefly before he turns around. He takes his shirt off and holds it in his arms.

Hamfast gasps.

“Exactly.”

Hamfast gasps again. “A dragon!” he whispers in awe. “Mister Bilbo, it’s a _dragon!”_

“Yes, I’m aware,” Bilbo says flatly. “I’ve finally lived up to my peak oddness.”

“I’m sure us hobbits had a dragon or two some thousand or so years ago,” Hamfast says reasonably but sounds rather like he doubts it. “What a mighty beast! Don’t suppose you know where the nearest dragon is at, do you?”

Bilbo turns around and gapes again. “Even if I did, I’m certainly not going to look for it!”

Hamfast looks shocked. “But— but you have to!”

“I do _not,”_ Bilbo says defensively. “A dragon is far more likely to eat me than guide me down my path in life!”

“But Bullroarer and his bear had as close a bond as you can get!”

“A bear! Rather minuscule compared to a bloody dragon!”

“But dragons are said to be smarter than the smartest man!”

“So it’ll calculate the best way to eat me!”

Hamfast huffs and throws his arms in the air. “It’s got to feel the pull as well as any of our animals do! It’ll be out lookin’ for you soon, I reckon.”

 _“That_ makes me feel better,” Bilbo moans and rubs his hands over his face. “Hamfast, I can feel the pull everyone has always spoken of and it wants to guide me out of the Shire.”

“Well, I reckon so,” Hamfast says with a frown.

 _“Far_ out of the Shire.”

Hamfast taps his foot on the ground and holds a hand out. “An adventure! You were always fond of adventure, you were.”  
  
“When I was young, yes,” Bilbo says, strained, “but I’m not young anymore. I’m middle-aged. I’m not prepared for a blasted adventure! Let alone to find a dragon with only the hope that it doesn’t kill me upon setting eyes on me. I don’t _want_ an adventure.”

“Maybe you need some advice,” Hamfast says. “Advice you can’t find here in the Shire.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Bilbo sighs.

“Well, there’s the Grey Wizard, o’course! Mister Gandalf surely has seen a dragon or two before.”

Bilbo gapes at Hamfast for a while. His shoulders sag and he groans, thinking that the dragon on his back is already causing him trouble, to not remember Gandalf. “Of course,” he says quietly and frowns down at his feet. “But he hasn’t been in the Shire in nearly ten years. Am I supposed to wait for him to come back?”

“That might be a while yet and it does no good to not bond with your companion for that long,” Hamfast says firmly enough to make Bilbo smile a little. “Missus Puddifoot has that very strange bird of hers. A cormorunt, isn’t it?”

“Cormorant,” Bilbo says faintly.

“That’s the one! That bird can travel further than any other and it has a knack for findin’ just the person Missus Puddifoot sends for.”

Bilbo moves to the wall and leans back against it and looks up at the ceiling. “Even if… even if Gandalf comes, he’s a mischief maker. He’ll only want me to go find the dragon.”

“I think that you’re forgettin’ how fond our companions are of us when they find us,” Hamfast says. “It won’t hurt you, Mister Bilbo. It’ll be glad to see you! Send for Gandalf and see what that old wizard has to say about it. And besides that, he might just take his time comin’ here, so you’ll have the time to think about it.”

Bilbo smiles as he looks at Hamfast. “I suppose so,” he says. “Thank you, Ham. You’re a very good friend. You always have been.”

Hamfast’s cheeks turn pink and he looks very pleased with himself. “Thank you kindly, Mister Bilbo,” he says. “Me and the Shire will always be here, whether you go on an adventure or not.”

Bilbo dresses and helps Hamfast out with cleaning up the sitting room. They have sandwiches and ale after and Bilbo feels his heart steadily righting itself. The panic he felt before recedes and leaves him feeling a bit tired and a bit… well, best not to think of that. He thanks Hamfast again and leaves the smial and walks up the hill to Bag End.

He gazes around the garden and watches bees buzz around his flowers and hummingbirds chase each other. He can hear the baying of someone’s hound and the groans of the cows in the fields behind Bag End.

It’s home.

But now, he knows, with his mark, it’ll never feel complete unless he has his companion with him. But even if his companion is the gentlest dragon there has ever been, well, where on earth is he supposed to keep him?

Bilbo heads inside to his study and sits at his desk to pen a letter to Gandalf.  
  
——  
  
It’s a very long month and a half without any word from Gandalf.

Bilbo looks at his mark in the mirror more often than he’d like to admit. He has also discussed it at length with Hamfast on many different occasions. Hamfast is steadfast in his belief that Bilbo should go on a grand adventure to find his dragon and his place in the wide world. Bilbo is steadfast in his belief that that’s balderdash and he’s going to stay put in the Shire, right where he belongs.

He can’t lie to himself however. The thought is there, niggling at the back of his mind, urging him to go. To go to the ends of the world, if need be, to see his dragon and find what’s been missing his entire life. The last bit of his heart, of his very soul. The emptiness within him aches and he yearns to fill it.

And then he remembers that dragons have razor sharp claws and teeth and breathe fire and, well, that’s enough of any fanciful thoughts for today, thank you very much.

He’s beginning to lose hope that Gandalf will ever write him back. Bilbo knows that wizards are often busy doing wizardly things but this seems like something very important. Dragons are usually evil in all the tales and the thought does occasionally come to Bilbo that it can’t be a _good_ thing he’s got a dragon on his back. It seems like something Gandalf should know about.

Missus Puddifoot had been very suspicious about her cormorant being used to send a message to who knows where, but when Bilbo had come around a few weeks later, she had given him a stern talking to for thinking that the bird might not have found whom she was looking for.

So Bilbo waits.

It isn’t until he’s shopping in the market one day that he begins to hear the whispers.

“That grey wizard is ‘round these parts, he is,” Mister Harwood says.

“Causing nothing but trouble,” Missus Harwood says.

Bilbo gapes at them from over the cart filled with bright yellow squashes. He hurries around it.

“Gandalf? Do you mean Gandalf the Grey is in the Shire?”

Missus Harwood sniffs. “He’s been spotted just outside of Hobbiton. Don’t tell me you’re going to consort with that wizard again, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Consort? No, no, no consorting. I must be off. Yes! Good day. Good afternoon!” Bilbo shouts as he turns and runs out of the market, his shopping basket holding its goods with a great amount of effort.

Hobbits shake their heads at him as he passes but he hardly notices. He runs up the hill and into Bag End, haphazardly putting his shopping away. He gets the kettle ready and sets out butter to soften for the bread he’d made this morning. After ensuring everything is ready, Bilbo grabs his pipe and runs outside.

He’s out of breath by the time he sits on the smoking bench and lights his pipe. He puffs quickly on it as he looks back and forth down the lane.

It’s not long after that he hears a familiar, deep voice humming a tune.

Bilbo sits up straighter and looks out of the corner of his eye at the tall figure that crests the hill and walks toward him.

Gandalf arrives at the gate and they peer at each other.

“You’re late,” Bilbo says.

“A wizard is never late, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf says frumpily. “He arrives precisely when he means to.”

Bilbo waves his pipe around. “Even so,” he says and stands. He straightens out his waistcoat. “You look… well, the same as you always do, I suppose.”

“And you are as charming as ever, I see,” Gandalf says but his lips are twitching under his beard. “A spot of tea would be most welcome.”

“Come in, come in,” Bilbo says as he puts out his pipe and gestures Gandalf through the garden. He leads him inside the smial and goes about making tea in the kitchen while keeping up a stream of conversation as Gandalf explores Bag End.

It reminds him of when he was a child and his mother did much the same when Gandalf came visiting.

“Are you planning an adventure?” Gandalf asks as he appears in the kitchen.

“An— an adventure?” Bilbo repeats as he gawks at Gandalf. “An _adventure?_ Nasty, rotten, uncomfortable things, adventures! They make you late for dinner! An adventure! Posh. Of course not. Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

Gandalf’s eyebrows are raised very high on his forehead. “The dozen or so maps on your desk, my good fellow. Merely a curiosity, I suppose?”

Bilbo blinks and laughs nervously. “Oh, yes, those,” he says as he pours tea, his hands trembling. “I’ve been sketching some maps in my spare time, that’s all.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Gandalf murmurs as he stares suspiciously down at Bilbo.

“Erm, perhaps we should go to the dining room,” Bilbo says as he looks at the table, which is far too small for one of the big folk.

They move the kettle, bread basket and butter to the dining room and Gandalf uses the man-sized chair pushed in the corner of the room. Once they’ve seated themselves and exchanged some small talk, Gandalf sets his cup down pointedly.

“Perhaps you might tell me why I rushed halfway across Middle Earth to be here,” he says mildly, “and all for a companion mark?”

Bilbo swallows dryly and sets his tea cup aside. “Erm, yes,” he says. He’s quite nervous and taps his fingers against the table. “My mark, as it were. I’ve finally gotten one. Very… late, but it’s here.”

“It’s not altogether unusual to receive it past your coming of age,” Gandalf says, but he’s looking at Bilbo keenly. “Your mother was certain your mark would be… special.”

Bilbo feels a bit faint. “Special,” he repeats. “Well, it’s certainly not your usual mark. Rather, I think I’ve gotten the short end of the stick, as far as marks go.”

“An animal you can only find outside of the Shire?”

“Certainly."

“Hmm,” Gandalf hums, his eyes twinkling. “Then perhaps you _are_ in need of an adventure.”

Bilbo scowls. “I am most certainly not! I was hoping you might be able to…” he trails off and gestures as if with a wizard’s staff.

Gandalf looks surprised. “Change it?”

“Well… yes.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, dear boy,” Gandalf says and looks more concerned. “What on earth can it be that has you so worried?”

Bilbo takes in a long, calming breath as he squeezes his eyes shut. He stands and unbuttons his waistcoat and shirt. “It was a bit of a shock to get it when I did,” he says slowly, “but even more so to see what it is. I’ve only told one other person, you know. If the others found out, well.” He laughs dryly. “They might finally run me out of the Shire.”

“Surely it’s not all that bad,” Gandalf says reassuringly.

Bilbo huffs a little and takes his shirt off. He turns around and gestures vaguely toward his back.

Gandalf is quiet for a long while, enough so to worry Bilbo. Finally he murmurs, “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“Interesting!” Bilbo squeaks as he turns back around. “It’s not interesting! It’s frightening! What in Yavanna’s name am I supposed to do about this?”

Gandalf leans back in the chair and stares at Bilbo intently. “That’s up to you, Bilbo Baggins. You can find your companion or you can find your own path.”

Bilbo gapes again. “But my companion is supposed to lead me down my path! I’ve been lost my entire life, Gandalf, you know I have. It’s what’s always been missing. I don’t think I can find my path without it… but I don’t want to find a blasted dragon either.”

“It’s a common misconception that only your animal companion will lead you down your path,” Gandalf says easily. “You have quite a bit to do with it yourself. You work together, rather than one leading and the other following. They’re meant to guide you down the path you choose for yourself, so that it might be easier and filled with more happiness. With less hardships than other races of Middle Earth might face. That is one of the many reasons the Shire is a peaceful place. They are not the only way down that path.”

Bilbo’s never really heard it put like that and he clings to the hope it gives him. “So you’re saying I don’t need it?” he asks desperately. “That I don’t need to find this dragon and get myself killed by it?”

“Your companion won’t kill you, Bilbo Baggins, and you know that already,” Gandalf says with a scowl, as if he’s offended by the very idea of it. “He will be drawn to you as you are drawn to him.”

Bilbo sighs and slumps into his chair. “What if he comes to the Shire to look for me? It’ll cause panic.”

Gandalf seems to hesitate and when he speaks, it’s with caution. “This dragon will not come to you,” he says slowly. “Not yet.”

Bilbo frowns. “How do you know that?”

“When did you get your mark? The day of your fiftieth birthday?”

“Yes,” Bilbo says suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I do believe he was born that day.”

“What?” Bilbo asks as he gapes again. “He’s a baby dragon?”

“…hmm, yes,” Gandalf says as he picks up his cup and takes a sip. “I should think so. Just growing into his feet. Paws, that is.”

There’s a strange relief filling Bilbo’s heart at this news. A baby dragon doesn’t seem quite so frightening. “So he’s too young to come to me? Why does my mark not show a, erm… hatchling?”

“I imagine that he will grow into what your mark shows,” Gandalf says. “But that won’t be for a long while yet.”

“He’s not dangerous then?”

Gandalf clears his throat and gazes around the dining room. “I should think not! Not to you anyway,” he says and frowns. “Perhaps to himself.” As Bilbo frowns as well, Gandalf huffs. “Well, he is very young.”

“Do you know… where he might be?”

“I do,” Gandalf says. “Far to the east of here.”  
  
Bilbo gulps. “Not… not north?”

Gandalf’s eyes soften and he smiles. “No, my dear fellow. He is not the result of a dark lord.”

“Where then?”

“Close to a Lonely Mountain, I should think. I’ve heard… rumors of a dragon spotted just to the west of it, near the forests of the Greenwood.”

“A Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo repeats, thinking of his maps. “Do you mean Erebor?” He gapes as Gandalf nods. “Erebor is hundreds and hundreds of miles from here!”

“A very long journey,” Gandalf agrees. “One you shouldn’t go on by yourself.”

“I’m not… I’m not even going on it to begin with!” Bilbo says as his heart begins to race at the thought. He’s a bit frightened that it’s not entirely with fear. “The longest walking holiday I’ve ever gone on was to Frogmorton! Not… not over the blasted Misty Mountains!”

Gandalf harrumphs. “Well, you’re very curious for someone who doesn’t wish to go. I think it would be very good for you, Bilbo Baggins! A chance to spread your wings and find what’s been missing.”  
  
Bilbo groans. “I don’t _want_ to spread my wings,” he says. “Not halfway across Middle Earth. And the snows will start soon. It would be unnecessarily dangerous.”

“Yes,” Gandalf agrees. “Which is why we will leave in March. We can reach Erebor before the heat sets in.”

“Before the… the heat…” Bilbo trails off as he stares at Gandalf. “Are you saying you would go with me?"

“Of course I would!” Gandalf says with a frown. “You can hardly travel the wilds by yourself.”

“Or take on a dragon by myself. Won’t he… not be a baby anymore by then?”

“Dragons grow slowly,” Gandalf says. “This one even more so.”

Bilbo doesn’t want to know how Gandalf knows that. He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I don’t want to go,” he says, “but I will think about it. It’ll change my life forever. And there’s after to think about! They’ll never let me keep a dragon in Hobbiton.”

“Hobbits,” Gandalf mutters. “We will cross that bridge when we get to it. If we even need to.” He moves on quickly, “Well, we have a lot of planning to do, dear boy. I will need… parchment and ink and perhaps a large glass of brandy to start with.”

Bilbo eyes Gandalf with scorn and curiosity both. He wonders what the old wizard has in mind and yet part of him still doesn’t want to find out. He hears his mother whispering in his ear, telling him to go, to find his dragon, to find ease in his life for once. His father’s whispering sounds frighteningly like an agreement. It’s what proper hobbits do - find their companion the moment they can. Even if it takes them out of the Shire for a time.

Bilbo thinks he’s the only one that is going to be led so far away and questions the Valar’s sense of humor.

For now, he has parchment and brandy to fetch.

——  
  
Gandalf stays for two days before he decides he simply must be off to Gondor and leaves Bilbo with long notes and lists and far too much to think about.

He promises to be back the first day of March and Bilbo secretly hopes that he’ll forget all of this dragon adventuring business. He regrets writing to Gandalf some days and others, he’s glad of it. Bilbo has more information about companion marks and the east than ever before and has learned a good deal about them both.

His heart aches with the yearning to find his companion. He’s somewhat comforted by the idea of a baby dragon considering any texts from the First Age explain just how very large dragons can grow to be. Perhaps, if he went to the east, the dragon might bond to him rather than burn him to a crisp, whatever Gandalf has to say about it.

Gandalf had reiterated what Hamfast once said about a dragon’s intelligence but Bilbo had sworn he had muttered _except perhaps this one._

He hadn’t bothered asking.

November melts into December with pale sunlight and the first frosts. The winds change and it grows frigid and Bilbo thinks about the long winter ahead. He has plenty of time to think about his potential adventure. And if he makes numerous lists of the pros and cons of going to the east, well, no one has to know.

He cannot help but think that both of his parents would be proud of him if he went. His mother for the adventure, the potential happiness it might bring to him, his father for it being the right thing to do, finding his companion, the way it’s meant to be. Bilbo thinks about what they’d say often and motivates himself some days, while others he spooks himself by the idea of the unknown they present him.

Bilbo packs and unpacks some belongings as winter storms on. He follows the lists Gandalf gave to him before he decides it’s really all nonsense and puts everything away again.

And if he bakes all of the hearty snacks he might take on an adventure for practice once or twice a month, well, none of his neighbors understand why. Except for Hamfast, who merely twinkles mischievously at him, reminding him far too much of Gandalf.

He isn’t sure how it happens but the snows begin to recede before he’s had time to blink and a few spring flowers begin to emerge early from the frost on the ground. They reach toward the sun that has come out to say hello and Bilbo sits on his smoking bench for the first time in a while and turns his face up toward it. It’s not warm yet but soon it will be. Soon it will be March and Gandalf will be here and Bilbo is still entirely unprepared.

February ticks by slowly and yet, by the end of it, it feels as if it has passed him by without warning.

The last day of February is spent hemming and hawing about adventures and what terrible fortunes they might bestow upon someone foolish enough to seek them out. He packs essentials and the odds and ends Gandalf had suggested. He had baked the day before and he loads up numerous packs full of treats that might last a few weeks on the road. Not nearly long enough but Gandalf had promised they would occasionally stock up throughout their journey while grumbling _you’ll learn to live without seven meals a day, Bilbo Baggins!_

Bilbo wrings his hands together as he paces the smial and when it’s time for bed, he merely stares at the ceiling all night and doesn’t get a wink of sleep.

March 1st dawns bright and early and Bilbo hurries into the kitchen to make some coffee with wildly trembling hands. He knows he won’t be able to stomach breakfast, so he makes nothing, and sits at the table. He sips the scalding hot coffee while dressed in his pajamas and patchwork robe and pretends that these last four months have been nothing but a very strange dream.

Of course, once there is a knock on the door, he can’t pretend any longer.

Bilbo straightens himself out as he walks down the hall. He breathes in deeply before he huffs, nods, and opens his door.

A towering wizard is on the other side of it.

Gandalf frowns powerfully. “You’re underdressed.”

“I have decided I’m not going,” Bilbo declares.

Gandalf’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? And when did you decide this?”

“Just now,” Bilbo says as he puffs out his chest. “And nothing you say can make me change my mind.”

“Hmm,” Gandalf merely hums and gestures with his staff for Bilbo to get out of his way.

Bilbo is nothing if not a gracious host and he ushers Gandalf in. He makes a cup of coffee for him and sets out a plate of scones as they move to the dining room.

“You have four packed bags in the hallway,” Gandalf comments mildly. “Where are you off to?”

Bilbo scowls as he sips his second cup of coffee. “I thought I might go on this silly thing you call an adventure but I’ve decided against it.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s… it’s nonsense! A dragon. A blasted dragon. Hatchling or not, I’m odd enough! I can’t bring a dragon home to the Shire and expect everyone to be alright with it. And you said yourself I don’t really need my companion to guide me. I can choose myself what I’m to be in life.”

Gandalf peers at Bilbo. “And how has that worked out for you so far?”

“I’ll have you know I’m very happy!” Bilbo says loudly as he leaps from his chair. He begins to pace the hall. “I’ve got everything I need. A roof over my head, food in my pantries, gold in my coin purse… I’ve got my writing and my, my maps, and I’ve got Hamfast! What more could I possibly need?”

“Perhaps a member of your family you might not detest,” Gandalf says as he pulls out his pipe and lights it with a flick of his finger. He watches Bilbo from over the smoke. “That is what companions are, after all. Members of the family.”

“That’s— that’s hardly the point at all,” Bilbo says. He’s not sure he’s making sense but he steamrolls ahead anyway. “The dragon won’t come to me, you said. It won’t know the blasted difference then! Best not to get its hopes up. Yes, we’re supposed to bond, but I’m afraid I have to leave you in the forest, can’t take you back to the Shire, old chap, the others will riot!”

“My dear fellow,” Gandalf admonishes, “take a breath.”

Bilbo realizes he’s panting. He holds his finger up in the air. “I. Am. Not. Going.”

Gandalf grumbles under his breath as he eyes Bilbo. “Well, then I’m afraid I’m very disappointed in you.”

“Oh, don’t even try to guilt me into it,” Bilbo snaps. “I’m not my mother.”

“Nor are you your father,” Gandalf says. “You are your own person, with your own lot in life. You have a companion waiting for you, entirely unique to you. Entirely unique from your ancestors, I would think. Your mother said your mark would be special and she was right! You were _meant_ to have a dragon mark. You were _meant_ to find him and you were _meant_ to bond with him. If you choose another path, you will always wonder what might have been. And, speaking from experience, what might have been isn’t a good thought to sit with for the rest of your life.”

Bilbo holds his hands behind his back as he continues to pace along the hall. He’s quiet for a while, gathering his thoughts, and ignoring the pull in his heart as well as he can. It’s very strong now, as if it thinks it’s time, and Bilbo tries to quash it.

But it won’t be quashed.

The longing spreads to his fingers and toes, warming him the way only the sun can in the height of summer. Bilbo breathes in and feels as if he’s breathing in new life. His heart swells with it and his eyes sting.

He looks at Gandalf as he stops pacing and Gandalf looks back at him.

“Well then,” Gandalf says as he stands. “It’s decided.”

Bilbo swallows roughly. “I suppose it is,” he says faintly.

“Did you follow my lists?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then say your goodbyes, Bilbo Baggins, because it will be some months before you return to the Shire.”

And that’s exactly what Bilbo does. He dresses and walks through the smial, touching the doorframe to each room, murmuring a goodbye to Bag End as Gandalf takes his packs outside. Once his heart decides it can’t take it anymore, Bilbo leaves the smial, locks the door and heads down the hill to Hamfast’s.

Hamfast looks beside himself with excitement when Bilbo hands over the keys. He wishes him luck and squeezes the life out of him in a hug and wipes tears from his eyes as Bilbo chuckles.

And then he’s off.

There is a man-sized horse for Gandalf and two ponies and with some difficulties, Bilbo manages to get on his pony. They leave Hobbiton slowly and Bilbo watches as his fellow hobbits shake their heads at him as they always do and he smiles. He smiles because it feels _right._ He smiles because the longing in his heart is warm now, rather than cold, because he is no longer ignoring it.

With each step he takes, he gets closer to his companion, and it settles in his heart, the feeling of it.

It’s a long journey ahead but with Gandalf by his side, Bilbo thinks he’ll make it.

He sneezes and fishes around his pockets before he groans loudly. “We need to stop!”

“What on earth is the matter?” Gandalf asks exasperatedly.

“I’ve forgotten my handkerchief.”

Gandalf sighs.

——  
  
The road is long and not particularly comfortable.

It takes four nights of tossing and turning before Bilbo finally can sleep out of sheer exhaustion. His rear end and thighs hurt from riding a pony all day long, something he has never done, but at least the reaction to horse hair isn’t as severe. Gandalf grumbles at him but he doesn’t make many comments beyond a few helpful suggestions to help Bilbo… acclimate.

They spend one night in Bree before they’re off into the wilds again, stocked up on supplies enough to last them to Rivendell.

It’s cold still and there is snow on the ground in some places as they move further east, but spring flowers are beginning to dot the landscape and green leaves are budding on trees. By the time they arrive in Rivendell there have even been a few warm days. But, Bilbo realizes, when they step into the great elven city, the weather of the world doesn’t seem to affect this place.

Bilbo is taken with the city at once. It’s beautiful with its wide arches and white stone, its flowing waterfalls and warm breezes. He can feel the pull of magic and Gandalf explains to him that that is exactly what it is - elven magic, protecting Rivendell from the outside world and any who may want to harm it. It’s not a particularly comforting thought but the magic itself feels warm and inviting.

Lord Elrond is a gracious host. He seems genuinely interested in Bilbo, in hobbits, and asks many questions about the Shire. He’s particularly interested in companion marks when Gandalf mentions they are searching for Bilbo’s animal. Bilbo does notice he doesn’t tell Lord Elrond exactly what the mark is or where they’re going and finds it somewhat suspicious, but Lord Elrond doesn’t press them for answers.

They stay in Rivendell a bit longer than Gandalf had expected them to, as the nights have grown freezing in the Misty Mountains once again, and Lord Elrond warns against traveling through them for a few days more. But, Bilbo supposes, all good things must come to an end, and he pats his feather pillow goodbye with some regret some days later.

They’ve made it through one leg of the journey, Bilbo thinks, and is surprised by how much he is enjoying it. Besides the lack of comfort most nights at any rate.

The world is beautiful, filled with green forests and long valleys, hills and mountains, flowers he’s never seen before. There are trees that tower over him, far larger than those that grow in the Old Forest, and he stares in wonder at the landscape as they pass them.

He collects flowers as they go, pressing them into a large book he has brought with him. He writes down their names when Gandalf tells him what they are and thinks he’ll write a book of his own when he returns to the Shire.

Whenever that will be. It’s a frightening thought, but also an exhilarating one. He’s never been so far from home and he hears his mother laughing and his father tsk-tsking and cannot help the happiness in his heart.

He’s finally gotten his adventure.

They journey through the Misty Mountains and Gandalf is certainly more on edge than he has been so far. It makes Bilbo uneasy, even if Gandalf doesn’t say anything, and he finds himself watching his surroundings more often.

But, after a week with no incident, they leave the mountains and a wide open valley stretches before them, leading to a great forest beyond. Gandalf points to a lonely peak in the distance and Bilbo’s heart warms at the sight of it. It’s very far away still but they’re more than halfway through their journey and the longing curls around his heart, content with the thought that he will be with his companion soon.

There’s an inn on the great Anduin river and they stop there for two nights, to rest and gather supplies for the forest. Gandalf warns Bilbo that there are heavy enchantments in the forest and insists they must stay on the main road through it, escorted by elves, for their own safety. It’s somewhat ominous but Bilbo finds himself excited to see it anyway.

They reach the elven gate of the Greenwood a day after that. The elves that greet them are fair and don’t smile or laugh nearly as much as those in Rivendell. They do sing, however, fast and lilting, and Bilbo contemplates sharing a few songs he’s written himself, but decides against it in the end. The elves show far more interest in Gandalf than they do in Bilbo.

Most of them anyway.

“I have not seen a hobbit in one thousand years,” a young blond elf says wistfully.

“Well,” Bilbo says as he shifts on the saddle of his pony. “Do we hold up to your memory?”

The elf laughs, warm and bright. “You are as I remember your ancestors,” he says. “I find myself despairing that I have not traveled west in so long.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“My father… prefers that I stay close to home.”

Bilbo hums. “You are a grown elf, aren’t you?”

“I am a prince, Master Baggins,” the elf says importantly, but a touch miserably all the same. “I have duties in the forest.”

“Well, don’t let my adventure give you any fanciful thoughts then, my good prince,” Bilbo says and smiles as the prince’s eyes gleam mischievously in return.

It takes nearly a week to pass through the forest and reach the palace of the Greenwood. Bilbo meets the prince’s father, Thranduil, and stares in awe at him for a while. He’s so very tall and fair, dressed regally in silvers and greens, a crown made of branches and the berries of spring atop his head. He stares majestically between Bilbo and Gandalf and when he speaks, it is slow and methodical, and Bilbo finds himself rather entranced.

“Why is a halfling from the west so far from home?”

“A hobbit, as it were,” Bilbo says as he breaks out of his trance upon hearing the word no hobbit is fond of. “I, erm… well, I’m in search of something.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows arch ever so slightly. “Here?”

“Erebor, rather.”

“Erebor,” Thranduil repeats slowly. He looks at Gandalf, who is inspecting the throne with interest. “What does a hobbit hope to find in Erebor, that he cannot find in the Shire?”

“He means to find a companion,” Gandalf says quickly, if enigmatically. “We’re sure he’s near Erebor somewhere.”

Thranduil is quiet for a long while as he observes them. “A fair warning then,” he says as his icy blue eyes fall on Bilbo. “There is sickness in Erebor. Sickness and danger. You would be wise to not stay near those lands for long. Find who you must and find safer ground soon after.”

Bilbo gapes at him, then at Gandalf. “You never said it would be dangerous in Erebor.”

Gandalf huffs. “I don’t think Erebor is particularly dangerous,” he says with a quick glare in Thranduil’s direction. “The sickness has moved on.”

“Not far,” Thranduil says with an undercurrent of suspicion.

Bilbo feels as if he’s missing a large part of the conversation and frowns. “Gandalf, will we be in danger in Erebor?”

“Of course not!” Gandalf says with a scowl. “There is no danger for you here.”

Bilbo’s certain that’s a loaded statement and from the way Thranduil’s eyes narrow, he thinks that he agrees. Bilbo throws his arms in the air. “Keep your secrets then! But I didn’t come all this way to get hurt, you know.”

“You have nothing to fear from Erebor,” Gandalf says. “Nothing at all.”

“Rest now,” Thranduil says as he glides down from his throne. “My son will show you to your quarters. There will be a feast this evening.” He looks at Gandalf as he passes. “There will be time to discuss matters later.”

Gandalf mumbles something and gestures with his staff at Bilbo. “Follow Legolas, dear boy, and I will see you shortly.”

Bilbo frowns and decides the ways of big folk are beyond him and best left to them. He bows awkwardly and hastens after the prince, Legolas, who begins to ask him endless questions about his _quest to Erebor,_ as he calls it. Bilbo simply attempts to keep up with his long strides.

He has a much needed bath and the elves offer to wash his clothes for him. After a short kip in a wonderfully soft bed, he is escorted to the feast, where venison and herbed vegetables and brown bread are served. Bilbo speaks with many different elves and feels rather like an exotic pet than a perfectly respectable hobbit. But Legolas rescues Bilbo before long and he drinks wine and has a long, lovely conversation with him.

He does notice that Gandalf and Thranduil are deep in discussion for most of it, but after a few cups of sweet elvish wine, he has quite forgotten them.

And by the morning, it’s the last thing on his mind, because they will be leaving the Greenwood and making the final journey north, where his companion is.

Gandalf promises they will indeed visit Erebor at some point, but explains that meeting his companion is the most important thing now.

Bilbo finds himself anxious as he says his goodbyes to the elves of the Greenwood. Thranduil watches him with a curiosity that hadn’t been there before and it sets Bilbo’s teeth on edge. There is something he is missing, he is sure of it, but Gandalf merely dismisses his concerns with a wave of his staff.

They are escorted out of the forest and begin their journey north.  
  
Erebor looms over them now, a massive figure, with delicate white snow on its jagged peak. It’s bigger than Bilbo had been expecting and he can only imagine the wonders inside of it. Dwarven dwellings are some of the greatest cities on Middle Earth and when he asks Gandalf to describe it to him, he’s left in awe, an ache growing in his heart that has nothing to do with his companion mark.

He has seen elvish cities, but there is something far more intriguing to him about a dwarvish city.

But first, before he can see it, he must find his companion.

The longing is nearly overwhelming now and he imagines he can feel his dragon’s own. There is a strange desire within him that isn’t entirely his own, Bilbo knows, but he keeps that to himself. He knows there are shared emotions between a hobbit and their companion, after all, and he suspects he’ll always feel something of his dragon’s emotions.

It’ll take some getting used to, but he’s eager for it all the same.

A few more days pass before they’re at the northern edge of the forest. It’s cooler here and a bit more barren, a bit less friendly, and Bilbo eyes the trees as they ride alongside them. Gandalf tells him not to worry, that it’s merely the last vestiges of a hard eastern winter, and Bilbo isn’t entirely sure he believes him.

And then, one afternoon as they ride, Gandalf stops his horse.

“He is here,” he says quietly.

Bilbo’s heart begins to race and he looks around their surroundings. “Where?”

“There will be a cave ahead, just inside the forest,” Gandalf murmurs as he points. “That is where you will find him.”

“Where _we’ll_ find him, isn’t it?” Bilbo squeaks with some concern.

Gandalf observes him. “No,” he says slowly, “this is a matter solely between you and your companion. Your first meeting should be done without outsiders.”

“Wait— hold on,” Bilbo says as he gapes. “Do you mean to tell me you’re sending me off to meet a blasted dragon alone? Have you known this the entire time?”

“I assumed you would know how first meetings are supposed to go,” Gandalf says easily. “You are a hobbit, after all.”

“That’s… but… you—” Bilbo cuts himself off and scowls. “What if he attacks me?”

“We have established that will not happen!” Gandalf snaps. “You are the last person he would ever attack.”

Bilbo sighs and looks ahead, groaning. “Couldn’t you come to outside the cave, at least?”

“No,” Gandalf says firmly. “You must have courage, dear fellow. The same courage that got you out of the door. Go to the cave and call to him. He will come.”

Bilbo’s hands are trembling now. He takes in a quick breath and holds it before he sighs shakily. He slides out of Myrtle’s saddle and wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. “Will you be here when we’ve… greeted each other?”

Gandalf nods. “I will be. I will set up a camp right here and I will be here when you come. But the bonding may take several days. Take a pack of food with you.”

“Alright,” Bilbo says nervously and takes up one of the packs that contains food supplies, and another with clothing and essentials. He’s shaking all over now but he straightens his spine and looks at the forest ahead. “I suppose I’m off then.”

“It will be fine,” Gandalf says, more gently.

“Wish me luck, I suppose,” Bilbo says as he begins to walk, his legs feeling wooden.

“Good luck, dear boy.”

Bilbo walks to where Gandalf had pointed. He stares up at the tall trees before he nods decisively and enters them.  
  
The forest feels very old. Bilbo wonders about the enchantments Gandalf had spoken of before but he thinks that somehow a dragon is above all that. He can feel the pull in his heart acutely now, as if someone has taken hold of it and is guiding his footsteps. The trees are huge, looming over him, their branches twisting in strange directions. Sunlight still glitters down to the forest floor but only just.

Until Bilbo sees more light up ahead.

His heart lodges in his throat as he approaches the golden light cautiously. He walks between two trees and a sloping meadow lies before him. Its grass is a yellow-green color, rising from a winter slumber, and Bilbo swallows as he looks past it, toward the other side of the meadow.

There lies a cave.

Only… it isn’t quite like the cave Bilbo had been expecting.

It’s massive, stretching hundreds of feet in each direction, and at least one hundred feet tall. Bilbo gapes at it for a while before he gathers himself. There’s a baby dragon that is in need of its companion and Bilbo begins to walk across the meadow. He feels exposed and uncomfortable, but he supposes he’ll be feeling that way for a while, without Gandalf.

Bilbo stops in front of the cave entrance, feeling very tiny in a very large world, and clears his throat. “H-Hello?” he calls, his voice small. “Hello?” he calls more loudly and his voice echoes throughout the cave.

Nothing.

Bilbo would groan but he’s frightened of doing so. He sets his packs down and walks forward, slowly entering the cave. The mouth of it is wide enough that sunlight reaches into it for a ways and Bilbo looks around at odd rock formations, frightening himself that each one might be a sleeping dragon.

And then the sunlight behind him begins to fade and Bilbo wishes he had brought a torch with him. There are large rocky shapes near the back of the cave, he can tell, if it even _is_ the back of the cave. It could go on forever, as far as Bilbo knows.

“Hello?” he calls. “Little one, are you here? Can you come out? It’s… me. Well, you don’t know me yet, but you will. I’m Bilbo Baggins and I’m here for you, little one.”

Something moves at the back of the cave.

Bilbo squints, straining to see.  
  
And he does see.

The large rock formation toward the back of the cave is moving. The last rays of sunshine catch on something black and leathery as it slithers toward him.

“Oh dear,” Bilbo whispers as he backs away. “Not… not a little one… oh no…”

Idly Bilbo thinks he will have words with Gandalf if he survives this.

The dragon’s footsteps are heavy on the ground and a few pebbles near Bilbo’s feet tremble with each step. He can see the shape of wings spreading from one side of the cave to the other. Something is moving closer and Bilbo gasps when he sees two glowing amber eyes in the darkness, incredibly large.

_Who are you?_

Bilbo startles rather violently. It’s not a voice spoken aloud. It’s in his head, deep and rumbling, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He stares up at the dragon’s eyes with his mouth hanging open. It is most certainly not the voice of a baby and since when can companion animals speak, anyway? Let alone only in someone’s mind.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he says faintly as he takes a few steps back. “I was… I was told you were, erm…” He gestures with his hands. “Smaller.”

_Should I be?_

“Well, you’ve just hatched, haven’t you?” Bilbo squeaks, perhaps a bit foolishly.

The dragon moves forward steadily as he steps closer to the sunlight. His head comes first, covered in small spikes and thick scales, larger spikes protruding from behind his jaw. He has very long horns, jaggedly curved at the sides, and Bilbo can see huge spikes running from the back of his skull and down his thickly muscled neck.

His eyes are brighter in the sun, like liquid fire, and it is like seeing his mark come to life.

Except the dragon’s snout is twice as long as Bilbo is tall.

 _Do I look like I have just_ hatched?

He sounds rather annoyed, the word _hatched_ said derisively, and Bilbo gulps. “No, you don’t,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I was mistaken. But… but I am here to meet you all the same. I’ve come a long way.”

The dragon’s eyes narrow as he looks Bilbo up and down.

_A halfling from the west?_

“A hobbit, rather,” Bilbo says, the urge to giggle hysterically bubbling in his throat, but he swallows it down. “Yes, I’ve come from the Shire because… because you are my companion.”

Dragons are more expressive than Bilbo might have imagined they could be, because this one frowns, the scales above his eyes coming together.

_Companion? I have no companions from the Shire. I have no companions at all._

“That’s not the way the Valar see it,” Bilbo says.

_Do not speak to me of the ways of the Valar!_

Bilbo jumps. It’s disturbing to hear such anger only inside of his mind. He takes a few steps back and clutches his trembling hands into fists at his side. “I’m sorry,” he says, not knowing why he should be. “But… we look at companion marks as a gift from the Valar. I have one. A companion mark, that is. And it led me to you, you see.”

The dragon doesn’t say anything for a while, merely observing Bilbo, which is nerve-wracking all by itself. Finally he tilts his head to the side and leans closer to Bilbo.

Bilbo doesn’t particularly like having him any closer but he stands his ground. “Do you know what a companion mark is?”

_No._

“I suppose only hobbits have them,” Bilbo says with a nervous laugh. “When a hobbit comes of age at thirty-three, they are given a companion mark. It’s always an animal. A rabbit or a goat, or, or once even a bear. Very unusual, that. And when you receive your companion mark, you feel a sort of longing in your heart… a pull, really. To find your companion. And your companion feels the same pull, so that you might find each other quickly—”

_I do not have time for such fanciful tales, halfling. What business do you have with me?_

“Well, I’ve just tried to explain it to you,” Bilbo says crossly, annoyed that he’s been interrupted and not believed. “It’s not a fanciful tale. It’s real. And you, good sir, are my companion.”

_That is impossible._

“Why?” Bilbo asks with a frown.

_Because I am not a dragon._

Bilbo stares at the dragon for a while, looking at his amber eyes, the spikes on his face, the pointed snout, the long neck… the shapes of large wings he can see in the darkness. He clears his throat. “Erm… you’re not?”

The dragon huffs a little, more of a snort than a sigh.

_No._

“Then what are you?”

He doesn’t say anything for a while but eventually his eyes lower and he begins to turn away.

_It matters not anymore._

“Wait!” Bilbo calls. “Wait, let me show you! Let me show you my mark.”

The dragon pauses before slowly turning back toward Bilbo. He peers down at him, his eyes not as frightening now, but more curious. Cautious, though, Bilbo can tell. The dragon bows his head.

Bilbo swallows dryly and takes off his traveling jacket. His shirt is next, the cool air of the cave causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. He feels exposed and uncertain but he knows he must show the dragon his mark. He must get him to believe in them.

Even if Bilbo is now unsure how it can be that a speaking dragon can be his companion, let alone one that claims to not be a dragon at all. No companions can speak, not even through thoughts, but rather emotions. There is the intelligence of dragons Gandalf and Hamfast had both mentioned but Bilbo has a strange feeling that has nothing to do with whatever is going on here.

He has many questions but he decides to keep them to himself for now. It feels like the Valar may still be laughing at him.

Bilbo breathes in deeply and lets it out as he turns around to let the dragon see his mark.

He’s quiet, not saying anything for a long while, and Bilbo fidgets nervously. “It’s you,” he says. “I know it is. I could feel you the entire journey from the Shire until this cave. You’re my companion.”

_I cannot be._

The dragon sounds unsure of himself now, his voice smaller even in Bilbo’s mind, and Bilbo turns around to look at him.

“You are,” he says confidently. “You absolutely are. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on or why I have an unusual mark. Hobbits don’t leave the Shire, not really, let alone have anything more than the occasional bear as a mark every few generations. But I have you and… and I know it’s right. I know we’re meant to be each others companion. Don’t you feel it?”

_I feel nothing._

“That’s not true,” Bilbo says firmly. “I can feel what you feel to a certain extent and it’s not nothing. I know you have a longing, a desire.”

_I do not desire a companion. I desire many things but not you._

Bilbo frowns. “What happened on September 22nd?”

The dragon’s eyes widen and he takes a step back.

_How do you…?_

“That’s when I received my mark,” Bilbo says and tries not to sound smug. “Something happened that day. I was told you must have been born that day but you’re clearly not a hatchling.”

He’s quiet again, his eyes searching Bilbo’s. He lowers his head and looks away.

_I was born that day, but not in the way you think. You wouldn’t understand._

“Try me,” Bilbo says as he pulls his clothing back on. He feels, for the first time since he received his mark, that he is not in danger.

The dragon snorts again.

_My name is Thorin._

“Thorin,” Bilbo repeats as his heart soars. It feels right. He smiles. “Well, Thorin, will you tell me what happened on September 22nd?”

 _That day, I became cursed._  
  
It’s not a very long tale and Bilbo suspects that Thorin is leaving out a good deal of the truth. He merely explains that he was someone else before he was a dragon and that, due to a mistake, he became cursed to be a beast. He won’t give a straight answer about who he was - not even if he was a man, elf or dwarf - or what his mistake was. It’s too mysterious and enigmatic and reminds Bilbo far too much of Gandalf.

_That is all you need to know._

That’s Thorin’s favorite answer when it comes to most questions Bilbo has and eventually he throws his arms in the air.

“I think it’s quite obvious why you’re my mark, you know! Clearly you can’t see it!”

_Then tell me._

“I’m meant to _help_ you,” Bilbo says in exasperation as he paces in front of the dragon, who has laid down at some point, one huge paw over the other. “And you might think you’ve got it bad in life, and I suppose you do, but it’s not entirely fair to me either!”

Bilbo is… angry. Upset. He feels betrayed by the Valar. By his lot in life.

They’ve given him a companion mark but his companion is no ordinary animal. And, if Bilbo can help him the way he knows he must, he will go back to whoever he was before, not an animal. And Bilbo will be left without a companion to guide him. The companion he had finally received so many years later than usual, the companion he has traveled halfway across Middle Earth to meet. It makes his eyes sting and he sits down on a boulder with a flat surface, looking down at his toes.

_That I am not a mindless rabbit?_

Bilbo scowls as he looks at Thorin. “They’re not mindless, you know. Companions are more intelligent than you and I put together. They sense us, they sense who we are, and they guide us to whatever destiny we’re meant to fulfill. They guide us to happiness. They help us find our passions in life, what we are best at, they help us find love, they help guide us through parenthood and, and… all sorts of things. They aren’t _mindless.”_

Thorin is silent for a while. He sighs.

_Forgive me, but I am not fond of the idea that I am meant to do that for you._

“I don’t think you are,” Bilbo says a touch miserably. “I think I’m meant to do that for _you._ Why else would I be given you as a companion, if not to help you with your curse?”

_Perhaps… we can help one another._

“I don’t know the first thing about breaking curses.”

_Nor do I know the first thing about guiding you._

Bilbo huffs a little and looks up at the dragon. “Gandalf told me that our bonding may take a few days. I think he knew who you were all along and he’s been keeping that from me.”

 _Gandalf? The Grey Wizard?_ Thorin’s eyes widen. He _can break curses._

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Bilbo mutters. “He’s been entirely unhelpful.”

_You must ask him. If he is able to break this curse then I will do whatever I can to help… guide you._

Bilbo eyes Thorin briefly. There’s something to the dragon’s tone that he doesn’t particularly like. Something selfish, something he hears in some hobbits’ voices in the Shire when they hint about wanting Bag End to themselves or marrying him only for his gold. It puts him on edge and yet he feels as if he can’t mention it. Who knows how an offended dragon might behave?  
  
“I suppose I can ask him when I go back to him,” he says slowly.

_Can you not go now?_

Bilbo frowns. “I don’t think so. From what Gandalf said, I think we’re meant to spend some time together. It’s what I see hobbits doing when they’ve met their companion.”

He feels a surge of impatience that’s not entirely his own and his heart picks up to an uncomfortable pace. And when Thorin speaks next, it is with deceptive calmness.

 _Very well._  
  
Bilbo decides to ignore it and sniffs as he looks around the cave. He isn’t entirely sure where he’s supposed to make himself comfortable but he thinks that his journey has prepared him well enough to sleep on the rough ground later. He looks at Thorin again, who is still observing him.

“Do you have a family?”

_…yes._

“I imagine they miss you very much.”

Thorin doesn’t say anything to that. He merely lays his head down and closes his eyes. Bilbo sighs as he watches him, thinking that he has yet another journey to go on, and doesn’t that make his heart ache. He’s exhausted to his very bones and the idea of _more_ is incredibly disheartening.

Oh yes, he will have words with Gandalf.

Bilbo gets his packs and brings them into the cave, laying out his blanket and small pillow, as well as a few snacks. He’s aware Thorin is watching him but he tries not to think about that for now. He has many more things on his mind to worry about what a dragon may be thinking about him.

_Come closer._

Bilbo jumps a little at the unexpected voice in his head. He looks up at Thorin. “Sorry— what now?”

_Bring your belongings here._

Thorin turns and walks further to the back of the cave. Bilbo gets a nice glimpse at his incredible wings and strong back legs and very, very long, thick tail. He swallows dryly and gathers his belongings, following Thorin until he cannot see anything.

And suddenly, a great flame erupts in the cave, and Bilbo gasps.

But the flame is aimed far from him, at the ground. He can see the line of fire deep within Thorin’s chest, through his neck, and out of his jaws. It’s magnificent and frightening and he watches in awe as Thorin lights a large stack of wood, made like a pyre. That’s a bit frightening in and of itself but Bilbo thinks that Thorin doesn’t likely use it to burn bodies.

He cautiously approaches the flames, warm and inviting despite their size, and settles down just close enough to feel comfortable. He sets up his small nest and sits down, looking at Thorin.

“Thank you,” he says politely.

_You’re welcome._

And they say no more.  
  
Bilbo’s dreams that night are of flames, of a shining white stone, of screams and accusations he can’t make sense of. Of anger, of betrayal, of a yearning desire, of death and destruction.

In the morning, he will forget those dreams.

——  
  
Bilbo’s sleep is restless and when he wakes in the morning, he finds he’s in a foul mood. He’s… glad to be with his companion, no doubt, but he still feels as if he has gotten the short end of things. He wonders if all companions were able to speak like Thorin, what they might say about their purpose in life being meant to solely guide someone else. Thorin isn’t fond of it and Bilbo, now knowing he’s in the same boat, isn’t all that fond of it himself.

He’s lived a lonely life by himself out of choice, no longer looking for adventures or pleasing anyone else, and to be thrust into a quest of sorts, to break a curse, is not what he had in mind for his journey.

He eats some of the bread and honey the elves of the Greenwood had given him as he watches Thorin slumber from the corner of his eye. For half of the night, he had been watching Thorin, not used to the presence of a dragon, let alone one so large. He decides, if he’s going to mope about everything, that he’ll do it on a walk around the meadow.

Bilbo steps into the bright sunshine of a spring morning and breathes in the fresh air. It smells of grass and sap and running water. He can hear a stream nearby and follows the mouth of the cave until he reaches a small, steady stream at one end of it. Dotted around it are flowers he hasn’t seen before, white and small, bunched together and growing from bright green leaves, and he smiles to himself as he picks a few of them.

“Aren’t you lovely?”

_What are you doing?_

Bilbo gasps and whips around before he yelps, staggering backwards.

Thorin is not far behind him, standing in the meadow, taking up more than half of it, and Bilbo wonders how he hadn’t heard a dragon as big as he wander up to him.

His scales are black as night but in the sunlight they are somewhat iridescent, like the grackles in the fields the farmers detest so much. His wings are folded neatly at his sides and his tail lays curled on the ground behind him, ending with six spikes of varying sizes. He’s magnificent, he’s brilliant, he’s beautiful, and he’s Bilbo’s.

In a way.

_Are you alright?_

“Oh, erm,” Bilbo says breathlessly. “Yes, sorry… you frightened me a bit. You’re very quiet for someone so…” He gestures widely with his hands.

There’s a rumble to follow and Bilbo gapes at Thorin, wondering if he’s growling at him, before he realizes that Thorin is laughing. He blushes. “Oh, quiet you,” he says as he turns back to the stream and picks a few more flowers.

_Mountain laurels._

“Is that what these are?”

_They grow only in the lands of the Greenwood and Erebor._

“They’re very beautiful,” Bilbo says as he pockets them and looks up at Thorin again. It’s daunting still, to have a dragon looming over him, but he still doesn’t particularly feel as if he’s in any danger. “I’m pressing them.”

_Pressing them?_

“Ah! I’ll show you,” Bilbo says as he begins to head back to the cave. He walks alongside the mouth of it, as far from Thorin as he can, so as to not be squished when Thorin follows.

They walk into the cave together and the smoldering logs from last night’s fire give just enough light for Bilbo to get back to his belongings. He pulls the book out of his pack and walks back to the front of the cave for sunlight, sitting on the flat boulder from before. He can feel curiosity in his stomach and smiles to himself, knowing that it isn’t his own.

Bilbo opens the book and shows Thorin some of the flowers he has pressed, reciting their names. There are bells of orange, pink parasols, yellow and red suns, and purple skirts. Thorin is quiet as Bilbo explains where he has picked them up, only offering the names that they are called in the east, endlessly fascinating to Bilbo.

He closes the book when he’s done pressing the mountain laurels and smiles up at Thorin, who is watching him steadily, curiously. There’s a softness to him there hasn’t been as of yet and Bilbo wonders who Thorin really is. Where he has come from, who might be missing him. What sort of life he has led. They are strangers still and Bilbo wonders how long it might take for them to open up to each other.

“How old are you?” he asks after a while.

_I was born on September 22nd._

Bilbo rolls his eyes and flaps his hand. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

Thorin huffs a little.

_I am old enough. Middle-aged, for my kind. How old are you?_

“I’m fifty, thank you very much,” Bilbo says. “Middle-aged for my kind as well.”  
  
Thorin makes some sort of rumbling, humming noise and Bilbo eyes him curiously as he lays down in the cave’s mouth, shaking the ground.

“Can you not… erm, speak out loud?”

_I’ve never tried._

Bilbo gapes at him. “What do you mean you’ve never tried?”

_I have not been around anyone but you in many months and when I was cursed, I left home… quickly._

Bilbo feels immensely sorrier for Thorin then than he has as of yet. He had felt for his plight already, yes, but to know Thorin has been living alone, with no one to speak with, is upsetting. And he’s been moping about having to help Thorin rather than Thorin having to help him. He feels selfish, not entirely unfamiliar to him, and clears his throat.

“Do you want to… try now?”

Thorin looks dubious as he eyes Bilbo in return. He opens his mouth and…

A puff of grey smoke comes out with an odd, strangled noise. Thorin snaps his mouth shut.

Bilbo bites his lip so he won’t smile. “What were you trying to say?”

_Your name._

He coughs. “Well, I’m sure it’ll only take practice. I’ve always read that dragons can speak in the old books.”

_What else did the old books say about dragons?_

“Hmm,” Bilbo hums as he looks up at the top of the cave. “Well… that dragons are solitary creatures. Very intelligent. Problem solvers and cunning and whatnot. Fierce.”

_Evil._

Bilbo looks at Thorin and frowns. “By choice, yes. Not always inherently.”

Thorin’s eyes dart away.

“You’re not evil, Thorin,” Bilbo says gently. “I wouldn’t have come this far if I felt you were evil in any way. You’re merely… in a predicament.”

_But they chose for me to become a creature that causes destruction. They chose to make me what the others accused me of being._

Bilbo watches Thorin, his heart racing. “Who accused you?”

_All of them._

Thorin growls as he speaks it in Bilbo’s mind.

Bilbo folds his hands together. “They accused you of… of causing destruction? Being evil?”

_They know nothing. I was leading us to better days and no one understood. They saw too much of my grandfather and not enough of me, but they were wrong. They would have seen, if I hadn’t been cursed to wander the wilds as a foul beast!_

Bilbo jerks a little at the roar in his mind, his heart jumping, and feels immense anger boiling in his gut. Not his own anger, however, and it worries him how strongly Thorin feels it.

“Why did they think that?”

_The stone. It would have given us glory!_

Bilbo sees a flash of a white, shimmering stone in his mind, and shakes it away. He isn’t sure where it came from to begin with.

“A stone would have given you glory? How?”

Thorin looks at Bilbo, his eyes wide and wild for a brief moment, before they suddenly turn cold. His lips lift, baring his sharp teeth.

_It’s nothing. Go back to your books._

And then Thorin is off, walking into the meadow and spreading his wide wings. He makes a running leap and Bilbo hurries to the mouth of the cave to watch him as he lifts into the air. He soars west and Bilbo gapes after him.

Oh yes, there are things Thorin is neglecting to tell him.

What on earth is he supposed to do about it?  
  
Bilbo spends the rest of the day waiting for Thorin to come back. He finds himself incredibly worried, pacing the cave or the meadow or as far into the forest as he dares. He collects firewood and snacks on jerky and lembas bread. There is anger in him still, Thorin’s, but it begins to calm down after a while. Thorin doesn’t return, however, and Bilbo debates going to Gandalf.

But if Thorin came back while he was gone, won’t he think Bilbo abandoned him?

So Bilbo stays and worries.

He knows that Thorin is a dragon and perfectly capable of taking care of himself but there is something that’s not quite right with him either.

He believes a shining white stone might give him - them, whoever they are - glory, but Bilbo has never heard of a stone doing anything of the sort. And for his people to call him evil or fear destruction from him… something is wrong. It feels as if it’s more than a curse and Bilbo hasn’t got a clue how he’s supposed to help Thorin.

If Thorin comes back, Bilbo will go to Gandalf, and ask him for help. Once he’s had those words he’s planning on having with him anyway.

It isn’t until the moon has long risen in the sky that Bilbo hears the beat of leathery wings. He leaps from where he’s laying on the ground in front of a small fire and hurries to the cave entrance. Thorin lands gracefully in the meadow, the moon shining on his scales, but his eyes standing out most of all.

_You’re still here._

“Well,” Bilbo frowns, “yes.”

_Why?_

“Because,” Bilbo starts and scowls, “I’ve already told you! You’re my companion, inked into my skin, and I’m meant to help you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Thorin doesn’t say anything, merely peers down at Bilbo, before he walks by him into the cave. Bilbo notices something in his front paw and squints in the darkness as they walk further inside. He can see Thorin fiddling on the ground and realizes he has gotten more firewood. He breathes fire onto it when he has the logs placed together and light begins to grow across the cave.

Bilbo sighs in relief, not particularly fond of an all encompassing darkness with no one else around, and sinks onto his blanket. Thorin lays down on the other side of the fire.

Bilbo picks at the edge of his blanket. “So, erm… where did you go?”

_To the river._

“The Anduin?”

_Aye._

Bilbo nods, not entirely surprised that Thorin can cross that sort of distance and back in less than a days’ time. He coughs. “I’m… sorry. For prying, if I did.”

_…you were curious. I should not have grown angry with you._

Bilbo thinks that Thorin wasn’t entirely angry with _him_ at all but he keeps that thought to himself.

“I was thinking,” he says slowly. “How I might help you.”

_Did you remember something from a book?_

“No,” Bilbo says as he chuckles. “The only thing I could think of from a book was a kiss or destroying a dark lord and I don’t think either are apt here.”

_Perhaps not. What then?_

Bilbo sighs. “I think that… if I were to… hmm, get closer to where you were cursed, I might find something. If Gandalf can’t help anyway. Maybe if I were to speak with others near your home or in it, they might have more ideas on how to break curses. Especially if there’s a library.”

Thorin looks at Bilbo for a good long while before his eyes fall to the fire.

_Perhaps. I would like to hear what Gandalf has to say on the matter first before you intrude on my life any further._

Bilbo frowns at that, thinking about the irony in the statement, but Thorin sighs.

_A poor joke._

“Oh,” Bilbo says and smiles. “Yes, you’re not very good at them.”

Thorin’s chest rumbles as he chuckles again and Bilbo’s shoulders sag with relief. Perhaps, whatever may be wrong with Thorin, he is not beyond saving. Why else would the Valar give him his mark?

“It’s late,” Bilbo says as he lays down and arranges his pillow and blankets. “I’ll see you in the morning and maybe go to Gandalf then. Erm… good night.”

 _Good night._  
  
——  
  
Their morning is spent with idle chatter, not really of anything important, but Bilbo can feel that Thorin is antsy. He ignores it for a while, eating his breakfast and filling his waterskin. He asks Thorin about his family and only gets vague answers in return about a brother and sister. He’s not particularly cold when he answers but he’s not warm either - he’s hiding many things about himself.

Bilbo wonders how much Gandalf knows.

_I need to hunt today._

“Oh?” Bilbo asks as he looks up from his journal, where he’s documenting the flower names he had learned from Thorin yesterday. “Was it a natural thing, once you became a dragon? Hunting?”

_…no. It took me weeks to learn how to do it. The deer heard me coming from a league away._

Bilbo chuckles at the idea of Thorin stomping around and scaring off all of the wildlife. “Well, when you’re doing that, I’ll go and speak with Gandalf.”

_I still do not understand why I cannot come with you._

“Because Gandalf keeps far too many secrets and I’m afraid he won’t be entirely honest with you there,” Bilbo says easily, even if that’s not the entire truth. He glances at Thorin from over his book, but Thorin doesn’t look suspicious. He’s merely examining his claws.

Bilbo wonders why Thorin can’t feel his own emotions. Companions can certainly sense what a hobbit is feeling, whether it be happiness, fear, despair, or exhilaration. But Thorin seems to not sense anything about Bilbo and he wonders how that can be. He can only think that the curse, if that’s what is wrong with Thorin, is preventing it.

Or, perhaps, it’s because Thorin isn’t a true companion at all.

It makes his heart ache and Bilbo pushes the thought away.

_Very well. It seems strange to trust him if he keeps so many secrets from you as well._

“Well, I didn’t know he was keeping secrets until you appeared,” Bilbo says mildly as he jots down a few more names. “Rather, I didn’t know how large his secrets were.”

Thorin huffs in laughter.

_Your mark is not of a hatchling. Why did you believe I would be one?_

“Because I asked Gandalf about it!” Bilbo says as he waves his quill in the air. “Very specifically! He said you were a baby just growing into his paws.”

_I suppose I was growing into my paws when you first spoke with him about me._

“He plays very loosely with the truth,” Bilbo mutters as he sets his journal aside to dry.

_How did you feel when you first saw your mark?_

Bilbo laughs, unable to help it. “I think shocked is putting it mildly. I woke up on my bedroom floor after first seeing it.”

 _You_ fainted?

“Yes,” Bilbo says. “And I’ll ask you kindly to keep that to yourself. But I expected perhaps a song bird or the unusual falcon when I came of age. And then… I didn’t get my mark and I stopped expecting anything. To get it on my fiftieth birthday and to have it be a blasted dragon was terribly _un_ expected.”

_Hmm. Why do only hobbits have marks?_

“We think it’s to protect the Shire,” Bilbo says. “At least, that’s what taught. To protect it from an outside world that may want to harm it. To keep it peaceful and prosperous, as our companions help us to do. To have some bit of paradise in a large, mean world.” He shrugs. “I rather think hobbits should get out of the Shire now and then. Have a bit of an adventure.”

_You were eager to find me then._

“Well— no, not exactly,” Bilbo says sheepishly. “I mean, I was certainly eager in some ways, but not so much in others. I didn’t want to come at first. I used to love the idea of adventures until my parents passed away and I got no mark. But now that I have one and I’m on an adventure of my own… I can see the appeal in it.”

Thorin is quiet and seems to be mulling over Bilbo’s words.

_What made you decide to come to me?_

“A wizard,” Bilbo says flatly. “Telling me you were a baby dragon.”

Thorin laughs for a good long while after that. He sounds strangely human.

“Well, I think I’d best be off,” Bilbo says as he stands and stretches. “You’ll be off hunting when I come back?”

_Aye. Take care._

Bilbo smiles. “You as well,” he says and waves goodbye to Thorin.

It feels strange, leaving the meadow, and he would be more fearful if he knew Thorin wasn’t watching him go, or that Gandalf is so close. He glances back at Thorin once he enters the trees and sees his bright amber eyes peering at him. It makes his heart feel lighter for whatever reason and Bilbo heads through the forest.

It’s only ten minutes or so before he comes out of the trees and into the plains of Erebor. He gazes up at the mountain and feels strangely drawn to it. But… he has a wizard to speak with and very strong words prepared for him. He turns and walks on, spotting Gandalf’s camp not long after.

Gandalf is there, sitting on the ground against a tree and smoking his pipe. He looks up as he hears Bilbo, his eyebrows raising. He begins to look apprehensive as Bilbo gets closer though.

Bilbo realizes he is stomping to the camp with his hands clenched at his sides.

“Dear fellow,” Gandalf says. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Bilbo asks dangerously. “Am I _alright?_ You’re lucky I’m not dead!”

“Dead?” Gandalf asks in surprise. “Why on earth would you be?”

“A _baby?_ A BABY?” Bilbo shouts and throws his arms in the air. “You lied to me! You said he was just… just hatched! A small dragon, a baby! Well, he is decidedly not a baby dragon!”

“I wasn’t certain what his size would be, exactly—”

“Oh don’t give me that!” Bilbo shouts. “You knew! And you knew even more! I’m sure you’re not going to be surprised at all when I tell you that _Thorin_ is not a dragon at all!”

Gandalf grumbles for a moment as he puffs furiously on his pipe. He waves his arm. “I merely suspected.”

Bilbo glares.

“I did believe the rumors,” Gandalf begrudgingly admits. “I’m surprised Thorin told you who he is.”

“He told me his name is Thorin and he isn’t really a dragon and nothing beyond that! He’s being very mysterious!” Bilbo hollers. “You two would get along splendidly!” He begins to pace. “A baby!”

“How large is he?”

“Well, the horns on top of his head are thrice as long as I am at the bare minimum, to give you an idea,” Bilbo snaps. “And he nearly didn’t believe me about marks! I had to show him mine!”

“Would you have believed you?”

“That’s beside the point!” Bilbo yells. “You know who he is, don’t you? You know exactly who and, and what he is and why he was cursed and you’re not going to bloody tell me, are you?!”

“Dear boy, calm yourself,” Gandalf admonishes.

“CALM MYSELF?!”

_Are you alright?_

“I’m bloody fine!”

Gandalf frowns powerfully and Bilbo pauses, blinking.

“Thorin?”

_Yes. I can… feel that you are angry. And hear you, most of all._

Bilbo blushes as he glances behind him, but Thorin is nowhere to be seen. He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says. “Merely giving Gandalf a talking to.”

Gandalf’s eyebrow arches but he seems to understand that Bilbo is having a different conversation now, as he leans back and resumes puffing on his pipe.

_Do you need me to eat him?_

Bilbo can’t help but giggle. “No, thank you,” he says and feels very unexpectedly giddy. “I have more things to discuss with him, so, erm… you can go hunting.”

_I will see you soon then._

Bilbo smiles to himself before he looks at Gandalf, who is peering at him with a strange expression. He glares again. “Don’t think I’m done with you! I expect some answers,” he says as he wanders over to a boulder in the camp. He sits down and huffs. “You know who Thorin really is.”

Gandalf doesn’t say anything right away, but he nods eventually. “I do.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say,” Gandalf says mildly. “I think that should be up to Thorin.” He scowls as Bilbo’s glare intensifies. “However, I do believe that Thorin will not tell you the full extent of what has happened to him. He called it a curse?”

Bilbo frowns. “Yes. Is it not?”

“Not in the way that Thorin thinks,” Gandalf says with some concern. “Has he seemed… unusual?”

“I hardly know him!”

“Even so.”

Bilbo doesn’t have to think very hard about it. “Well… he is very angry. He said some odd things about how people view him and his emotions are… full of rage. I assumed it was because of his curse.”

“It’s something inside of Thorin, certainly,” Gandalf says. “But something only he can overcome, with help, rather than it being broken the way a curse might be.”

“Are you saying he… cursed himself?”

“In a way,” Gandalf says carefully. “But I was not there to see how it might have played out. I believe, if Thorin himself does not tell you what exactly happened, there are others who can.”

Bilbo swallows dryly. “Who then?”

Gandalf looks at Erebor.

“Erebor?” Bilbo asks quietly. He gasps. “Thorin is a dwarf?” When Gandalf nods, Bilbo sits back and gazes at the mountain. “Yes, that’s… very fitting. Is that what the elf king meant? About sickness and danger in Erebor? Did he mean Thorin’s curse?”

“I do believe so. Now you might understand why I told you he is not a danger to you.”

“But to himself,” Bilbo mumbles. He feels as if he has an entire new hurdle to cross, let alone all of the information he must now process. He thinks that, when he returns to Thorin, he must be very careful how he proceeds. Groaning, Bilbo puts his head in his hands. “You used me.”

“Hardly,” Gandalf snaps and sounds very offended. “It was not I who chose your mark.”

“But you still led me on this journey because you expected me to help Thorin! To change him back!”

“I expected you to try to help your companion, as he might try to help you,” Gandalf says. “There is no guarantee you will change him back. I merely hoped that you might find each other, as a hobbit and his companion are meant to.”

Bilbo glares for a while, his arms crossed over his chest, before he looks at Erebor again. It’s no use arguing with a wizard - they seem to always have an agenda. The greater picture, his mother would sometimes say when reading him fairytales, and he’s merely a pawn in it. It makes him unbelievably angry but he decides he’s yelled enough for one day.

He does, after all, wish to help Thorin. It’s an immense yearning in his heart, replacing the need to find Thorin with the need to help him. If Bilbo can find a way to return Thorin to Erebor, to be with his friends and family again, at peace, Bilbo will see it done.

He sighs. “I’m going back now,” he says as he stands. “Thorin is off hunting but I want to be there when he returns.”

“Good, good,” Gandalf says mildly and apologetically.

Bilbo supposes that’s as good as he’ll get for now. He turns and waves over his shoulder as he heads back into the forest and to the cave. As he wanders back, he has a realization.  
  
Thorin felt what he’d been feeling, the way that Bilbo feared he couldn’t.

It has to be a step in the right direction, Bilbo thinks, and feels even lighter at the thought.  
  
Bilbo tidies up his belongings and reads a book that he’s read many, many times before. It’s a tale of a great battle involving dragons and dwarves, elves and orcs. It’s based on events that happened in the First Age but there are some elements to it that the author had clearly embellished or made up herself. It’s all very exciting though, no matter how many times Bilbo has read it.

He’s halfway through when he hears the beat of Thorin’s wings. He sets the book aside and stands, walking to the mouth of the cave. Thorin lands in the meadow, three deer held in one paw, and another in his mouth.

“Goodness,” Bilbo says as Thorin wanders into the cave, setting the deer down just inside. “You’ll decimate the population before long.”

_I’m hoping you might help me with my… predicament, before that happens._

Thorin sounds amused and Bilbo smiles to himself as he examines the deer. “I’ll certainly try my best,” he says. “How do you eat them?”

_Whole, once they have been cooked._

Bilbo shudders. “Well, erm… would you mind if I got some meat for myself first?”

_That’s why I have a fourth deer._

Bilbo nods and gets his pack, which holds the knife he uses to skin rabbits. It’ll take a while to do the deer, he thinks, but it’ll certainly be worth it. Better than lembas bread anyway.

He pointedly doesn’t watch as Thorin burns the deer and gobbles them up.

When it’s evening, after Bilbo has had his fair share of venison, and they are sitting at the fire, Bilbo looks up at Thorin. The sun is setting and the cave is shining brilliantly in golds and pinks and it looks very beautiful reflecting off of Thorin’s scales.

To think that he’s really a dwarf. Bilbo wonders what he looks like. The color of his eyes, his hair, the shape of his face. He longs to know who Thorin really is but, as he knew earlier, he must tread lightly.

“Gandalf can’t break the curse,” he says slowly, glad of Thorin’s patience in waiting for the conversation. “But he said that we might be able to. I… I think I need to know more about it first.”

Thorin watches Bilbo from over the flames, the firelight flickering in his eyes, a strange and enchanting effect.

_What do you want to know?_

“How… how did it happen exactly?”

Thorin sighs and turns his gaze to the fire.

_I was in the treasury. I only remember thinking of the ways I might improve my home, while holding the stone, and then I was… this._

“The stone,” Bilbo says quietly. He swallows. “Do you think it might be the sto—”

_No._

It’s said so sternly that Bilbo quickly moves on. “Hmm, alright. And there was no one else in the treasury with you?”

_Not that I could see or sense._

“Did you leave home right after?”

_My… friend found me sometime later. We spoke briefly and he escorted me out of my home when I told him I wished to leave. That I did not want anyone to see what became of me._

Bilbo takes in a long, slow breath. “Will you tell me where home is?”

_…Erebor._

Bilbo is immensely surprised that Thorin has offered this and watches him closely. He looks very emotionless and that worries Bilbo. “Erebor,” he repeats quietly. “It seems to be a very beautiful place. I’d like to see it someday.”

_It is beautiful. Perhaps you will._

“Would your friend be willing to talk to me? It’s possible someone in Erebor might know what’s happened to you.”

Thorin looks at Bilbo again, searching his face.

_Erebor has a large library. There may be a tome on curses. Balin would know._

“Is he your friend?”

Thorin bows his head.

Bilbo sighs shakily. He’s nervous and relieved at the same time that Thorin is finally opening up to him, at least a little. And, it seems, that he might even be giving Bilbo permission to go to Erebor. If Balin was the only one who saw Thorin for who he really was, he might have more insight than anyone.

_I want you to help me. I believe that you can. But if you go to Erebor, you must not speak to anyone but Balin about what has happened._

“Of course,” Bilbo says, his pulse quickening. “I would only discuss it with him. Do your siblings know?”

_I imagine they do now but I don’t want you to speak with them._

Bilbo’s afraid to ask why, so he doesn’t. “Alright,” he says. “This sounds like a plan, Thorin. Somewhere to start.”

Thorin nods slowly.

_Aye. You may help me yet. I will owe you much in return if you can find the answer to this riddle._

Bilbo coughs a little. “Well,” he says, shrugging. “I imagine once you’re back to being you, you might not be able to guide me as a companion usually would, but, erm… just your thanks would be enough.”

_If you stayed in the mountain, I would be able to guide you._

Bilbo gapes up at Thorin. “Stay— stay in the mountain?” he repeats faintly. “But I… I have the Shire to return to. My home.”

Thorin looks away.

_Merely a thought. Perhaps you can visit again, sometime in the future._

Bilbo swallows, his cheeks warm, and nods. “I’d like that, at the least,” he says softly. “But let’s focus on turning you back into a dwarf first.”

_Aye._

“What, erm…” Bilbo trails off and turns away. “Never mind.”

_Ask me._

Bilbo blushes more. “What color are your eyes, really?”

Thorin chuckles.

 _Blue._  
  
——  
  
They spend the rest of their evening speaking of the good things in the world, like favorite foods or songs. Bilbo recites some of his songs and poems to Thorin, who calls him a true wordsmith. Bilbo suspects Thorin is teasing him but he’ll take it all the same. Thorin even sings a song or two of his own, in a perfectly lovely voice, and Bilbo dearly wishes he could hear it out loud, rather than in his mind. He wants to feel it, something tangible.

The next day they begin to plan Bilbo’s journey into Erebor. The mountain isn’t very far at all, just a half days’ ride, and Gandalf will be there. Thorin tells Bilbo what the mountain looks like upon entering it, and the longing in his voice is palpable. He describes the beautiful stonework and architecture of the mountain wistfully, with pain, and Bilbo’s heart aches for him.

Thorin describes who he can speak with at the gates to find Balin, as well as what Balin himself looks like. He tells Bilbo what questions to ask Balin and Bilbo thinks that he won’t particularly follow them, but Thorin doesn’t have to know that. Thorin’s questions are about breaking the curse and Bilbo wishes to know how it was put on Thorin to begin with.

It seems Balin and Thorin are very close and Bilbo is eager to speak with him.

They lay out in the sun once they have exhausted the conversation and talk more about themselves. Thorin tells Bilbo stories of his mother and father, his sister and brother, his nephews. They sound like very good people, even if Thorin is clearly not telling Bilbo the entire truth about his family. He wonders what it can be that Thorin wishes to hide about himself.

Surely he knows Bilbo will find out the truth very soon.

But Bilbo doesn’t push Thorin - not yet.

He merely enjoy listening to his deep, soothing voice in his mind and closes his eyes, something fluttering in his heart, something unfamiliar, yet wonderful.

Thorin tells Bilbo tales of dwarves of old in the evening, of Erebor’s history, and Bilbo listens to it, enraptured. Thorin is passionate about his home, about his ancestors, in a way that Bilbo has never heard before. Hobbits in the Shire certainly enjoy speaking about their lineage but that’s typically to brag about how large it is, rather than any deeds their ancestors might have done.

Thorin asks Bilbo about the Shire and listens intently as Bilbo describes it. He chuckles as Bilbo talks about his nosy family members and expresses shock about just how many of them there are. He asks why Bilbo has yet to settle down and Bilbo isn’t sure how to tell him _because I never had my mark until now. Because I’ve never felt this way until now._

So he merely explains his love of bachelorhood to a quiet Thorin.

They talk well into the night, more than Bilbo suspects either of them have talked with someone before, and Bilbo finally feels as if he has found his companion. As if he has found himself… his purpose, his path, his destiny.

He falls asleep with Thorin’s low crooning in his mind.

——

“Bilbo. Bilbo!”

Bilbo hears a lovely voice calling his name and skips over a white cake as big as Bag End in search of it. There are sugared plums above him, clouds, he thinks, and delicate frosting falls like snow from them.

“Bilbo!”

He groans a little as the dream recedes, cracking an eye open.

There is a massive amber orb hovering above him, one that reflects himself lying on his bedroll, and Bilbo may or may not screech.

Thorin jerks his head back quickly and blinks down at Bilbo. “Forgive me,” he says quickly. “Bilbo, listen—”

“Don’t _do_ that,” Bilbo pants, clutching at his chest as he sits up. “You’ll kill me before I can help you!”

“I’m sorry. Bilbo—”

“Hobbit hearts are fragile, I’ll have you know,” Bilbo says as he looks up at Thorin. He pauses, his heart skipping a beat, and gapes.

Thorin nods and there is a smirk in his voice when he says, “I tried this morning and it was as easy as breathing.”

Bilbo scrambles to his feet. “You’re talking,” he says in awe. “Goodness! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

Thorin rolls his eyes. “I tried, but you were mumbling about cake.”

Bilbo blushes. “Well,” he says, quickly moving on, “you sound positively lovely! It’s… it’s very different, hearing you speak out loud. How does it feel?”

“Incredible,” Thorin says breathlessly, everything about him expressive. His eyes are bright and lively, and the way his lips move is very human-like. Bilbo’s heart soars.

“That’s excellent, Thorin,” he says cheerfully and walks forward to pat Thorin’s large paw. “I’m very happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Thorin murmurs as his eyes dart away. “I think you are already helping me.”

Bilbo smiles as he goes back to clean up his blankets and fold them. “I think you’re helping yourself but if I had any part in it, I’m glad,” he says. He takes a drink from his waterskin. “Today is the day, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Thorin says and looks east. “Today you will journey to the mightiest kingdom on Middle Earth.”

Erebor is so very close and so very beautiful, towering above the forest, and Bilbo gazes up at its peak. “Once I’ve had breakfast and gathered my things, I’ll be off to find Gandalf. I hope I’ll only be gone for a few days, but… it may take longer, if no one has any insight. I don’t want to disappoint you but it may not be as easy as we’re hoping it is.”

“I know,” Thorin says quietly. “But I have hope nonetheless that it will be.”

Bilbo goes about his morning business and eats breakfast while going over the essentials for his trip to Erebor with Thorin. Thorin is nervous, Bilbo can feel it in his heart, even though Thorin is trying to seem at ease about it. He’s eager to get home, Bilbo knows, and he dearly hopes he can find a way for Thorin.

Once Bilbo has packed up his belongings and put his pack on his back, he looks up at Thorin and smiles. “I suppose I’m off,” he says. “Wish me luck.”

Thorin gazes down at him, his eyes soft. “Good luck, Bilbo,” he says quietly.

It makes Bilbo’s fingers and toes tingle, to hear his name said aloud in that deep, rumbling voice. He coughs a little. “Thank you. I’ll see you as soon as I can. Good… goodbye, Thorin.”

Thorin leans in and carefully nudges his snout against Bilbo. It knocks him a foot to the side and Bilbo laughs as he pats Thorin’s nose. He gives a jaunty wave as Thorin says goodbye and hurries across the meadow, into the forest, and out of it again.

He walks to Gandalf’s camp, and isn’t surprised to see Gandalf waiting for him, his horse and the ponies readied.

“You’re late,” Gandalf harrumphs.

“Oh, you couldn’t have known to the precise moment,” Bilbo grumbles. “How long will it take, exactly?”

“We can be in Erebor by the time the moon rises if we ride quickly,” Gandalf says. “But I imagine you won’t be able to speak with anyone until the morning.”

Bilbo nods as he gets on his pony with surprisingly little effort. “Then let’s be off,” he says with a sigh and smiles as he looks up at Erebor.

He feels very good about this. Perhaps it won’t be as difficult as he has been imagining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: the boy with the dragon tattoo
> 
> So! I got this idea moooonths ago and brainstormed it all out with [telltalelily](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/telltalelily) but then I got scared cause I thought it was gonna be like 80k+ so I didn't start writing it. I've been thinking about it again recently, however, and realized I can do it in about 30-35k. And now I've been writing nonstop.
> 
> Thank you to EVERYONE who has helped me with this so far! Ebba, Erin, Navy, Dis, thank you thank you thank you!
> 
> I hope to have the second part out to you all by Tuesday at the latest. But please do let me know what you think so far. Kudos and comments are everything.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	2. Chapter 2

They ride swiftly across the plains between the Greenwood and Erebor. Gandalf explains that there is another forest just to the northeast of Erebor where the dwarves do their hunting, as they are not allowed to in the Greenwood. Bilbo senses there may be bad blood between the elves and dwarves but he’s not entirely sure why.

Their journey is without incident. They pass over a small river that leads to Lake-town, Gandalf explains, and approach the gates of Erebor shortly after. It has grown dark by the time they arrive but Bilbo can still see the magnificent gates. They are dark in color, green limestone, he thinks, and he stares in awe up at them as they approach.

There are pine trees here and berry bushes, and the river runs out from underneath Erebor. It’s beautiful and smells of fresh water and grass and Bilbo grins as he sees fireflies dancing along the river and over the bridge, lit by massive torches on each corner.

It isn’t hard to see why Thorin loves Erebor and he has yet to see the glory inside of the mountain.

There are two massive stone sentinels guarding the gates of Erebor, dwarves in armor, and Bilbo is shocked by how large the statues are. Gandalf merely chuckles, as if this is nothing, and Bilbo suspects he may be right. They cross the bridge, four very real dwarves guarding one end of it, who don’t say anything as they pass.

When they are close to the shut gates, however, someone from above shouts, “Halt! Who goes there?”

“It is I,” Gandalf says importantly. “Gandalf the Grey! I seek council within the mountain!”

“And who travels with Gandalf the Grey?”

Gandalf looks expectantly at Bilbo and he sits up straight in his saddle. “O-Oh! It is… I, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, Gandalf’s traveling companion!”

There is silence for a moment before suddenly one half of the great gates begins to slide open. Bilbo stares in wonder as Erebor opens up to them.

They ride slowly inside the brightly lit mountain and Bilbo gazes around, his mouth open in awe.

They’re in a great hall, filled with magnificent green marble, gold streaks splashed throughout it. The walls are dark granite, diamonds and emeralds shining within them, never hewn. Pillars follow the hallway, reaching up into the darkness of the mountain, where there are many bridges and walkways and balconies above.

To the sides of the gates are what looks like soldiers’ barracks and a few armed dwarves approach them.

Bilbo gulps at the sight of one. He’s very tall and very bald, with a chunk of ear missing, and tattoos across the top of his head.

“Tharkûn,” he grumbles. “I see you decided to take your time.”

“I had equally pressing matters to the west and to the south before I could journey here,” Gandalf says as he gets off of his horse and hands the reins to another guard. “Some of which concerns the matter here.”

Bilbo would scowl, but he’s afraid that might make him a suspicious person. Of course the dwarves had written to Gandalf about Thorin - why wouldn’t they? Though he does wonder just who this dwarf is that he even knows about Thorin.

“And who is the halfling?”

Bilbo huffs as he slides off of his pony. “I’m a hobbit, rather,” he says flatly as he looks at the dwarf. “I’m Bilbo Baggins. Gandalf’s traveling companion.”

“We are in need of Balin’s council,” Gandalf says. “About the matter at hand.”

The dwarf raises a bushy eyebrow. “What does the halfling have to do with it?”

“Everything.”

The dwarf frowns as he looks at Bilbo with a new light in his eyes. He nods jerkily and gestures for them to follow. “My brother is in council meetings until later this evening. I can inform him you’re here and you can stay up until four, or I can wait until the morning.”

Bilbo would like to meet Balin as quickly as possible but he keeps his mouth shut.

“It might be more wise to meet with Balin tonight,” Gandalf says, much to Bilbo’s surprise.

Bilbo blinks as he hurries behind them toward a massive, black-stoned staircase with gold bannisters. “Brother? You’re Balin’s brother?”

“Aye, that I am,” the dwarf says. “Dwalin, at your service.”

“We should both like some tea and dinner to tide us over while we await Balin,” Gandalf says.

Dwalin rolls his eyes. “Aye, you’ll have it,” he mutters as he swiftly walks up the stairs.

Bilbo glances behind him, sorry to see Myrtle go, and hopes they will take good care of her. He nearly trips over his own feet and looks forward again, marveling at his surroundings.

They ascend staircase after staircase and go down brilliantly decorated hallways, with plush red and gold carpets down some, and blue and silver down others. There are marble and metal statues of dwarves and beautifully sewn tapestries along the way, showing Erebor’s history. Bilbo suspects that, while they walk for a long while, Erebor is far more massive than what he has seen.

Dwalin leads them into a huge receiving room with sofas and armchairs and dining tables. Two hearths are at either end of the room and Bilbo gapes as he looks around. It’s a room fit for a king, he thinks, and he wonders if all of the mountain looks this way.

They seat themselves at one of the dining tables as Dwalin mutters about ordering food and drink. It isn’t long before a fresh pot of tea and a large serving pot of beef stew, with hearty sourdough bread and a small barrel of ale are set before them by servants, who bow repeatedly to Gandalf as they back out of the room. Bilbo suspects they must be near one of the many kitchens of Erebor he assumes there are.

“You’re very well known here,” he comments as he serves himself stew. It has a large amount of meat and potatoes in it, but only a few carrots, which doesn’t entirely surprise Bilbo.

“I’ve been coming to Erebor since it was founded,” Gandalf says as he pours himself a small cup of tea and a large tankard of ale. “Every king has been in need of council from the Grey Wizard at some point.”

“And they wrote to you about Thorin,” Bilbo says mildly.

“They did.”

“So it wasn’t really a rumor, but the truth out of the dwarves’ very mouths.”

Gandalf huffs and takes a large drink of ale. “Dwarves often embellish. I listened to more rumors coming from outside of the mountain and your own tale before I truly believed them.”

Bilbo grumbles as he eats, deciding not to comment on the fickle way of wizards. He’ll drive himself mad trying to convince himself Gandalf might be someone he’s not.

They eat and drink ravenously, until there is nothing but crumbs left. Bilbo sips on ale after he’s done with his tea and asks Gandalf questions about Erebor. Gandalf answers them easily, more truthful than he normally is, and Bilbo opens his mouth to ask more about Thorin. But the doors to the room burst open and a blond dwarf stumbles in.

“It’s about time!” he cries as he looks at Gandalf. “What on earth took you so long?”

“Ah, hello, Prince Frerin,” Gandalf says as he stands and bows.

Bilbo’s heart skips a few beats as he gapes at the Prince of Erebor. He leaps from his chair and bows as well, but Frerin doesn’t seem to notice him.

“Didn’t think it was so pressing, did you?” Frerin demands.

He’s very handsome, with bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair, some braids adorning it. He’s got a beard, though it isn’t as long as some of the dwarves Bilbo has seen so far, and is braided artfully.

“I had equally pressing matters to attend to,” Gandalf says grumpily. He gestures widely at Bilbo. “This is Bilbo Baggins, my traveling companion, and someone you will want to meet.”

Frerin looks at Bilbo and blinks before he smiles shortly. “Master Baggins,” he greets as he bows his head. “What might you have to do with this?”

“Oh, a great deal,” Gandalf says quickly. “When will Balin be here?”

Frerin glares suspiciously between Gandalf and Bilbo before he rolls his eyes. “Soon enough. Is there more ale?”

Bilbo hurries to pour a tankard for Frerin and bows as he gives it to him. Frerin begins to laugh joyfully, the tension lines around his eyes easing.

“There’s no need,” he says with a smile. “To be formal, that is. If you’re a friend of Gandalf’s, you’re a friend of mine.”

Bilbo blushes and coughs. “Oh, erm, thank you very much,” he says.  
  
He doesn’t think now is the time to mention Thorin - he doesn’t know how Frerin knows about Thorin other than Balin informing the prince about the dragon that had recently been in the treasury. And if Frerin is the prince, that means his father is king.

What do the royals think about Thorin?

“Now, about my bro—”

Frerin is interrupted by the doors banging open again. A dwarf slips inside, black-haired and blue-eyed, beautiful. Her beard is braided as artfully as Frerin’s, but her eyes hold far more anger and concern as she walks up to the table.

“Where have you been?” she hisses at Gandalf.

“Tending to other pressing concerns,” Frerin recites and holds up his mug. “Sit, dear sister. If you’re here, Balin must surely be on his way.”

“He is,” the other dwarf says stiffly, her eyes holding a strangely familiar fire inside of them. She sits at the table and folds her hands together, looking at Bilbo. “You are the halfling that is somehow involved in this mess.”

“Hobbit, rather,” Bilbo says weakly, a bit intimidated by her. “My name is Bilbo Baggins.”

“Dis,” she says shortly. “Explain to me what is going on.”

Bilbo opens his mouth, but just then the door opens again, quietly this time, and a white-haired dwarf sweeps in, Dwalin behind him. Bilbo knows this is Balin from what Thorin had said about him and he quickly stands again so he might bow.

“Finally,” Balin says as he looks at Gandalf, but it is said with relief and not anger. “I trust your journey was safe?”

“Very,” Gandalf says. He gestures at Bilbo. “Bilbo Baggins, meet Balin, the royal advisor to the king.”

“Oh!” Bilbo says and awkwardly bows. “Erm… it’s, it’s good to meet you. All of you.” He cringes as they merely raise their eyebrows at him.

“You as well, laddie,” Balin says as he eyes Bilbo curiously. “My brother seems to think you play a large part in this.”

Bilbo glances at Gandalf, who merely nods at him. They all take their places at the table and Bilbo sighs, his hands trembling. He folds them together in his lap and look between the dwarves and Gandalf.

“Is… is Thorin familiar to all of you?”

There is silence for a long moment, with only a small cough from Gandalf, before Dis begins to scowl.

“He is our brother, so I should think so,” she says icily.

“Your… your brother,” Bilbo says faintly as he gapes between her and Frerin. “Thorin is a prince?”

“A prince?” Frerin asks, laughing. “He might wish for it sometimes. Bilbo, he is our king.”

Bilbo sits very still, looking between each of the dwarves’ faces. They are all staring expectantly at him, as if he should have known this, and Bilbo slowly turns to Gandalf. Gandalf looks at him and raises his eyebrows.

“Did Thorin not tell you?”

“Did Thorin not— oh!” Bilbo cries, thrusting his finger at Gandalf’s nose. “You! What more secrets are you keeping from me?! I’ll have you know that if I find out one more, I’ll take that staff of yours and—”

“Gentlemen,” Balin says mildly. “Am I to understand that you have spoken with Thorin?” he asks Bilbo.

Bilbo scowls at Gandalf for a while before he turns to Balin. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes,” he says. “For a few days now.”

They gape at him. “You’ve seen him?” Frerin asks, hushed. “We’ve heard reports he’s in the Greenwood. A dragon has been spotted there, but… but Balin told us Thorin forbade anyone going after him.”

Bilbo isn’t entirely surprised to hear it. He sighs and wipes his palms off on his trousers. “Yes, he’s there,” he says quietly. “I’ve journeyed from the Shire to Erebor to find Thorin.”

“Why?” Dis asks.

“Because he’s my…” Bilbo trails off and swallows dryly. “He’s my companion.”

They frown at him and Gandalf clears his throat. “Hobbits are very unique,” he says. “They have companion marks.”

Balin makes a low noise. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Gandalf says with a smile. “As the books of old once spoke of.” Bilbo gapes at Gandalf and he waves his hand dismissively. “Only a few books have the information and they are believed to be more of a fanciful tale than fact.”

“What on earth is a companion mark?” Frerin asks.

“It’s… it’s a mark hobbits receive when we come of age,” Bilbo says. “It shows up on our bodies, as if someone has inked it into our very skin. The Valar, we like to think. When I came of age at thirty-three, I didn’t get one, but… but on the day of my fiftieth birthday, September 22nd, I did finally receive one, very late. The companion mark is always an animal. A, a dog or a rabbit, goats and birds and the like. Once you have it, you are led by a longing in your heart to the animal, and it to you. Mine… well, mine is a dragon.”

The dwarves gape at him and between each other. Only Balin looks unsurprised, peering with interest at Bilbo, a knowing sort of glint in his eyes. Bilbo quickly looks down at the table as the dwarves begin to speak at once.

“I’ve never heard of anything like it—”

“It’s impossible—”

“A bunch of horseshi—”

“It is true!” Gandalf roars suddenly and the dwarves quickly shut their mouths. He scowls at them before turning to Bilbo, gesturing. “Show them, my dear boy. They will believe what they see.”

Bilbo’s rather tired of taking off his shirt these days but he understands the need for it. He stands and takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. He carefully pulls it off and counts to three before he turns around and shows the dwarves his back.

Frerin and Dis gasp, while Dwalin curses.

“It is as I saw him,” Balin says somberly.

Bilbo pulls his clothes back on and sits down, his heart racing as he looks between the dwarves. They talk amongst themselves, asking Balin and Gandalf questions, and Bilbo simply tries to breathe.

Thorin is a king. He hates that Gandalf and Thorin didn’t bother to tell him, knowing full well he would find out on his own. He’s angry and hurt but, and he is annoyed with this, he also understands it. If more people were to know that Thorin is truly a dwarf king, they may try to hunt him down and kill him. And Thorin… well, Bilbo thinks Thorin might not have told him out of the shame of it. A mighty dwarf king, reduced to that of a beast, in his mind, because of a curse.

Bilbo feels hopeless suddenly. Surely if Thorin’s family knows what has happened to him, they have been searching for a way to break the curse? But they haven’t mentioned it, nor have they gone after Thorin. His heart feels as if it has cracked in two and Bilbo slumps back against his chair.

“Are you alright, laddie?”

The table has gone eerily silent and Bilbo blinks as he looks up at the dwarves. Frerin and Balin look concerned, Dwalin impassive, and there is a strangeness to Dis that he can’t place.

“Oh, erm… I’m fine,” he says quietly.

“Aye,” Balin says kindly, “but you aren’t. Tell us what’s on your mind.”

Bilbo takes a drink of his ale before setting the cup aside. “You’ve known where Thorin is for months,” he says slowly. “And you’ve been waiting for Gandalf. You… you haven’t found a cure yet.”

Dis looks away.

“We are still looking,” Frerin says quietly.

“Aye, we are,” Balin agrees.”But you are right. We have yet to find a cure for Thorin’s sickness.”

Bilbo frowns. “Sickness?”

“Is he still…?” Frerin asks.

“Sick?” Bilbo asks. “Erm… well, he’s certainly still cursed. He hasn’t said anything about… about being sick.”

They look upset by that news and Bilbo sits up straighter. “What do you mean by sickness?”

“The dragon sickness,” Dis says very quietly. “It runs in the line of Durin. Thorin has been afflicted with it for nearly two years now.” She sniffs. “We’ve never seen it… like this before.”

“It has never manifested as an actual dragon before,” Balin clarifies.

Bilbo feels ill and brushes a bit of sweat off of his forehead. “How did he get sick? And why would he call it a curse?”

“He never believed he was sick, laddie,” Balin says, with a glance at Frerin and Dis. Dwalin is quiet, staring off at the wall, but the siblings nod. “Dragon sickness is a sickness of the mind. Thorin’s grandfather, King Thror, began to show signs of it in his later days. He collected gold and treasures, not to spend or to make the mountain greater, but to grow his own hoard. One treasury became another, until an entire district was overrun with it.” He sighs. “He spent all of his time with the treasure, the sickness growing within him, until there was no more of Thror left. He never believed he had the affliction and would listen to no one.”

Bilbo’s heart is thumping painfully and he bites his lip as he looks between the dwarves. “What happened to him?”

“The dragon came,” Dwalin says angrily.

Bilbo gasps and Balin nods.

“Aye, laddie, a dragon. It entered the mountain and went to the treasury. It killed Thror, as Thorin attempted to help him escape,” he says, an undercurrent of old pain in his voice. “Thorin found an old spear his grandfather had collected and only managed to kill the dragon before it killed him as well.”

“Oh my,” Bilbo whispers. He thinks that he hardly knows Thorin at all, even if he is beginning to feel like an old friend. He can only imagine the pain Thorin has endured, but… “Why then?” he asks. “Why has he become sick with it as well?”

“None of us are completely free of it,” Frerin says tiredly. “We’re all susceptible. But Thorin was Thror’s favorite. He spent more time with him than anyone.”

“But that means he saw the sickness better than anyone!” Bilbo says. “Wouldn’t he have noticed the signs?”

“He did,” Dis says flatly. “And he ignored them, just as our grandfather did. He ignored us, just as our grandfather did. He believed he was above it, that we couldn’t or wouldn’t see his vision for Erebor. That stone poisoned his mind.”

A white, shimmering stone, clutched tightly in a dwarven hand.

Bilbo shakes the image from his mind. “He… he did mention that a stone would bring his home glory.”

“That stone will bring us nothing but ruin,” Dwalin snaps.

“Aye,” Frerin agrees. “We locked it in the deepest vault we have the moment we knew Thorin was gone. It should never see the light of day again. Thorin and our grandfather both were obsessed with it.”

“But… but maybe…” Bilbo trails off with a frown.

“Go on,” Balin says as he gestures kindly.

“Maybe the stone should be destroyed. Maybe it’ll help Thorin.”

“None but the king can decide that,” Gandalf says softly. “And the king is in no fit state currently to decide it.”

Bilbo feels immensely sorry for Thorin all over again. He isn’t cursed. He’s sick, something he couldn’t necessarily control, Bilbo thinks, considering it runs in his family. Perhaps he could have noticed the signs but then who is Bilbo or anyone else to judge what happens in someone else’s mind?

He rubs his hands over his face as he thinks. “Thorin has been very kind to me, mostly,” he says and looks up as the dwarves look at him again. “I’ve seen and heard things that haven’t been who I think he really is. But… but he seems to be coming out of it, I think. At least a bit,” he says hurriedly as they perk up. “He stopped being as angry, anyway, and opened up to me in some ways.”

Dis and Balin eye Bilbo curiously which brings a bit of heat to his cheeks.

“You said that companion marks are always animals,” Balin says. “But they aren’t always animals that are truly someone else?”

“Most certainly not,” Bilbo says. “They’re only ever just animals. Intelligent animals, kind, that live to be as old as we are. But… but we never have dragons. And we never have dragons that are someone else. My mark is very unusual. I believe I’m meant to help Thorin, rather than Thorin being meant to help guide me.”

They’re quiet as the digest Bilbo’s words and he looks at Gandalf, who pats his shoulder. Bilbo may be angry with him, but he is glad of the comfort now.

“Do you have any ideas, Bilbo?” Dis asks softly. “Anything at all?”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo says miserably. “I came here thinking I might find something in your library. Thorin told me it was a curse and… I assumed that was all it was. I don’t know how to help him.”

“You said that he’s been opening up,” Frerin says. “That he hasn’t been as angry. Maybe it’s just… _you_ that can help him.”

Bilbo gapes at him. “Just me? That’s… that’s quite something to expect of me, though,” he says. “I’ve done nothing but speak with him!”

“You haven’t treated him as if he’s a king,” Dis says. “Or as if he’s a sick king.” She lowers her eyes, sounding ashamed. “You haven’t ostracized him like I have.”

“Like _we_ have,” Frerin mumbles as he lays his hand over his sister’s.  
  
Bilbo looks between them. They do look very much alike, even with such different colored hair, but they share the same sorrow on their faces. He wonders if Thorin might look that way, if only he could hear their conversation. Or perhaps he’d be angry. He feels close to Thorin but he’s still woefully ignorant on who Thorin really is. Especially not clouded by dragon sickness.

“We have the chance to make it better,” Balin says. “We can help Thorin go back to being the dwarf we know so well. I think Master Baggins here is the key to it.”

“I’m— what now?”

“You do have Thorin inked into your skin,” Dis says mildly and with a fleeting, knowing smile.

Bilbo blushes and hides it behind his ale as he takes a hearty sip of it. He wipes his mouth off and ignores the fact that everyone but Dwalin is looking at him in much the same way.

Dwalin seems angry at the very world.

“But I don’t know how to help him,” Bilbo protests. “How do we know that I even have so far?”

“Has he tried to have you killed?” Balin asks. Once Bilbo has shaken his head dubiously, he asks, “Has _he_ tried to kill you? Maim you? Punish you for questioning him?” Bilbo shakes his head again and Balin holds his hands out. “Then you’ve done better than us so far, laddie.”

Bilbo feels faint. “He’s… to you all…” he trails off as the dwarves look shamefully away. “I’m sorry. But I still don’t…”

“There is a cure in love,” Gandalf says softly. When Bilbo gapes at him, he smiles. “And friendship. Disease of the mind can often be cured with these things alone.”

“What if… what if I go to him and tell him he’s got dragon sickness and he doesn’t want anything more to do with me?”

“That may well be the case,” Balin says seriously. “But we won’t know unless you try. Considering he’s a dragon, however, and not fond of certain wizards,” he says, glaring at Gandalf, “then I would ask you to exercise caution. If Thorin seems unstable and like he may hurt you, you must not be near him.”

“Gandalf said he wasn’t dangerous to me,” Bilbo says, his voice small.

“He isn’t inherently, merely by being your companion,” Gandalf says, “but he is a danger to himself and therefore you as well.”

Bilbo swallows dryly and thinks Gandalf could have mentioned that before. “So I’m supposed to… what? Try and speak him out of the dragon sickness?”

“Show him humanity,” Dis says. “Show him who you are, so that he might show you who he is.”

“He’s going to want to know what Balin and I discussed,” Bilbo says. “If there was a cure or not. I won’t lie to him and tell him there isn’t. He deserves to know what he’s going through, doesn’t he?”

They look conflicted, gazing between each other, and Bilbo looks at Gandalf. He looks troubled himself and Bilbo frowns.

“I _won’t_ lie to him.”

“Bilbo, it might be for the best to not discuss dragon sickness until he’s in a better frame of mind,” Frerin says with concern.

“He’s not been angry in a few days. He’s even started speaking,” Bilbo says hurriedly. “I think he’s already on the road to recovery.”

“He… couldn’t speak?” Dis asks in confusion.

“Oh, well,” Bilbo says. “He could, but only in my mind. Today he started speaking as we do.”

“Aye, that is how it was with me,” Balin says. He grimaces as the others look at him. “He asked me not to speak of him at all.”

Dis and Frerin sigh. “He’s ashamed of what he has become but not the reason for it,” Frerin says.

“He’s very adamant someone cursed him,” Bilbo says. “He wouldn’t hear it when I suggested the stone may have had a part in it.”

“When Thorin finds himself again, he’ll want it destroyed. It’ll be the first thing he asks for when he returns,” Dwalin says firmly. “He’ll come back, whether it’s on his own or with Master Baggins’ help.”

“Without Bilbo’s help you may never see him again,” Gandalf snaps. “Don’t discount how important Bilbo is on this journey to recovery.”

Bilbo’s beginning to feel overwhelmed. There is so much new information in his mind now and he’s having a hard time processing it. Thorin, a king, his family royalty… dragon sickness and corrupt stones. The role he must play in it, without a clue what to truly do to help Thorin.

And… what if Thorin decides he doesn’t want help?

“I think we may need to call it an evening,” Gandalf says as he peers at Bilbo. “It’s been a rather long journey with little rest for us both.”

Balin nods and everyone stands from the table. “Of course,” he says with a smile in Bilbo’s direction. “You can have the room you’ve always had.” He gestures at Bilbo. “Follow me, lad, and we’ll get you situated for the evening.”

Bilbo finishes his ale and stands on wooden legs. He hurries after Balin, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. He looks at Dis and Frerin and his heart lurches to see the plea on their faces.

“Don’t give up on him,” Frerin says. “Please.”

“You may not be his only hope but you are his best one, as of now,” Dis says. “We don’t mean to pressure you… but he is our brother. Our king.”

Bilbo bites his lip and nods. “Of course. I understand,” he says as his shoulders sag with the weight of the world. “I’ll do my best to help him. I promise.” He gives a short wave and hurries after Balin again, not particularly sure he can handle anymore conversation this evening.

He already knows he’s going to be up all night thinking over everything. He wishes to run back to Thorin as quickly as possibly and yet, he fears it. If Thorin doesn’t take kindly to Bilbo attempting to help him with dragon sickness, what can he do? A person can only change themselves. No one can do it for them, even if they are dealing with a sickness of the mind. They must want help and Bilbo fears that Thorin won’t.

Balin leads him out of the receiving room with a pat to his shoulder. They walk down another hall before they enter another massive room, guarded by four dwarves. Bilbo suspects it’s the royal halls and is far too exhausted to get worked up about it. He merely says goodbye to Gandalf and follows Balin down another hall to a large set of doors. Balin ushers him inside.

Bilbo looks around at the splendor, the opulence of gold and marble, of rich fabrics, of numerous pieces of expertly carved furniture and decides he simply cannot take it in.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin asks gently.

“Oh,” Bilbo sighs, “I suppose we’ll see in the morning, if I can sleep.”

Balin chuckles and nods. “I wish you and myself luck in the matter of sleep,” he says and walks out of the room. “Good night, Bilbo.”

“Good night,” Bilbo says faintly as he watches Balin close the doors.

He gazes around the room before he chooses one of the three doors inside of it. It leads to a spacious washroom and he gets himself ready for bed. Deciding he’ll explore in the morning, if he feels like it then, he goes to the giant four poster bed and buries himself under the blankets.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Thorin?”

There is no answer.

——  
  
Morning comes far too early for Bilbo and he lies awake in bed, staring up at the dark stone ceiling. A few lanterns are lit still, offering a pale light, but he knows it must be starting to get light outside. It’s disturbing to not have a window and Bilbo wonders how dwarves do it. He supposes they are more creatures of the earth than the sun.

As he’s contemplating finding someone for breakfast, his door creaks open and Bilbo gasps, sitting up. A servant walks inside and bows to Bilbo without saying anything. He lights the fire and more lanterns until it’s bright in the room.

“Master Balin thought you might wake early,” he says with a brief smile as he bows again and backs to the doorway.

“Erm,” Bilbo says as he holds up his hand. “Who might I speak with about a spot of breakfast?”

“Me, Master Baggins,” the servant says. “The sun’s only just rising but the kitchens are open all day and night. Anything you might fancy? Not sure what hobbits eat, I’m afraid, sir.”

Bilbo smiles a little. “I imagine we eat just the same things you do,” he says. “Though I could use a rather large breakfast, I think. If I’m allowed.”

“You’re a royal guest, sir,” the dwarf says. “You’re allowed anything.” He bows out of the room.

That’s a bit much for Bilbo but he decides he’s not having a particularly good couple of days and that he’ll splurge on his needs. He goes about his morning business and finds his pack lying on the table in front of the hearth. He dresses in fresh clothes and by the time he’s done, there’s a short knock on the door. The same dwarf from before comes in, pushing a metal cart with a great many covered plates on it, as well as a steaming pot of tea and pitcher of orange juice.

Bilbo gapes. “O-Oh, that’s… goodness,” he says. “Thank you very much. What’s, erm… what’s your name?”

“Skofor, sir,” the dwarf says with a smile. He takes the cart to the dining table and lays out the many dishes, uncovering them as he goes.

Bilbo stops at his side and looks at the meal with an appreciative eye. It’s large enough that he might not be able to eat it all himself but he’ll certainly give it his all.

There are three types of sausage, flat patties and fried links, and gigantic grilled breakfast sausages. Both thickly cut and thinly crisped bacons, scrambled and over medium and poached eggs, red potatoes with herbs, hash browns cooked to a fine crisp. There are pancakes, even, with berry compote and cream, and a large dish of softened butter on the side.

“Master Balin thought you might like these as well,” Skofor says as he uncovers a dish filled with strawberries, cherries, and honeydew melon.

“Good gracious,” Bilbo says. He swallows dryly and looks at Skofor. “Have… have you eaten yet?”

Skofor blinks in surprise. “Not yet,” he says carefully. “But I’ll have a break soon enough to do so.”

“Perfect! You can dine with me. So I don’t eat it all myself. There is plenty, after all,” Bilbo says as he gestures. “Won’t you sit?”

“Master Baggins, sir, I don’t think that I’m allowed.”

“Well, I am,” Bilbo says confidently. “Allowed anything, as you have already told me, and I’d appreciate a bit of company in this very large, lonesome room.”

Skofor looks between breakfast and Bilbo, clearly having a conflict with himself, before he suddenly grins. “Thank you, sir, thank you! I’d be honored to join you.”

They seat themselves and after Bilbo has gestured grandly for Skofor to begin, they serve themselves. Bilbo loads up his plate and ensures that Skofor does the same. They split the juice but Skofor denies the tea, not particularly to any surprise of Bilbo’s.

Bilbo tries not to pry too much but he does ask Skofor questions about his work. He’s young, Bilbo thinks, his brown beard not as long as others’. He says he’s been working in the royal halls since he became of age, as his father and his father before him did. And from the way he speaks of the work, Bilbo suspects that he’s fairly treated and paid well. It makes him glad to hear it.

He’s heard of the greedy ways of dwarves all his life but those that he has met are kind and funny. The only greediness Bilbo has heard of is King Thror and he was very ill. Bilbo thinks the world doesn’t treat dwarves as kindly as it should.

Skofor mentions that the king has been on a diplomatic mission in the west for many months. He sounds as if he believes it and Bilbo wonders how it can be that a full-sized dragon such as Thorin was able to escape the mountain without anyone noticing.

They finish their breakfast and idly chat for a while about life in Erebor and the Shire and Bilbo finds that he quite likes Skofor. He’s a smart young lad, bright and cheerful.  
  
Someone that may be a good friend someday, if Bilbo were to… well, best not to think about that.

There’s a knock at the door, however, and Skofor leaps from his chair as if it was set on fire.

“I’ve been neglecting my duties,” he mutters apologetically.

“That’s my fault,” Bilbo says. “You can answer the door, if you’d like.”

Skofor hurries to it and opens it. “Prince Fili! Prince Kili!” he says to the dwarves on the other side and bows as he gestures them inside.

Bilbo stands and feels his heart skip a few beats. More princes. These must be Thorin’s nephews. The first dwarf that enters is as blond as Frerin is, with the same blue eyes, but Dis’s nose. He’s handsome and walks in with a bit of a strut as he gazes around the room. His eyes fall on Bilbo and brighten.

“Master Baggins!”

The second dwarf is brown-haired with a pointier nose and more scruff than beard. His hair is wild compared to his brother’s and he looks dressed as if he might go on a hunt, rather than to a council meeting.

“Master Baggins!” he too cheers and they hurry up to him.

“Thank you, Skofor!” Bilbo calls as the servant edges out of the room. He grins briefly at Bilbo before he hurries away, the door closing behind him.

“Erm, hello,” Bilbo says as he looks between the brothers. “You’re… Fili?” he hazards a guess at the blond.

“That I am,” Fili says with a wide grin. “And this is my brother, Kili. We’ve heard so much about you!”

“Really,” Bilbo says with a nervous laugh. “I’ve been here for such a short while.”

“Mum came to see us last night,” Kili says easily. “She said you’re our new hope to getting Uncle Thorin back.”

Bilbo has a brief recollection of Thorin telling him to only speak with Balin about everything and thinks that he has failed mightily at that.

“Ah,” he says uncomfortably. “Well, I’m certainly going to try.”

Kili picks up a piece of bacon and nibbles on it as he watches Bilbo curiously. “Mum said you were destined to. That you’ve got some sort of mark, like, like a tattoo, that led you to Uncle.”

“I do,” Bilbo says slowly.

“How interesting.”

Fili smirks. “He wants to know if we can see it.”

Bilbo eyes the brothers. They seem very young, with such short beards, and from the way they speak. Thorin had spoken of their mischief making, but he had assured Bilbo, in a warm tone, that they were sweet boys who only caused some of his grey hairs.

“It’s rather rude to ask someone you’ve known for one minute to take off their shirt,” Bilbo says mildly.

“Depends on the situation, really,” Fili says breezily. Kili snickers.

Bilbo huffs. “Perhaps before I leave, I will,” he says and ignores their crestfallen gazes. “Are you here for a reason or to pester me to see my mark?”

“Both, of course,” Kili says. “Mum meant to invite you to breakfast but you’ve already had it. She’ll still want to see you though. She says you aren’t likely to stay here for very long before going back to Uncle Thorin.”

“He’s really a dragon then,” Fili says quietly with a frown.

“Yes,” Bilbo says. “Did you not believe it?”

“The mountain was put on lock down one night,” Fili says with a sigh. “We were told there was a dragon spotted nearby. It wasn’t until the morning that Mum told us what really had happened. That Thorin… became a dragon in the treasury and Balin locked the mountain down to sneak him out. It’s not something that’s easy to believe, honestly.”

“Aye,” Kili says as his shoulders slump. “But since he hasn’t been back, we’ve come to terms with it. We’re trying not to lose hope but you’re our first good news about this.”

Bilbo’s heart picks up pace. He’s strongly feeling the pressure, he thinks, and it makes him feel faint. “I truly will try,” he says. “I’d like nothing more than to help Thorin. I’m growing fond of him.”

“Are you?” Fili asks lightly and with a nudge to his brother’s shoulder. “You certainly look it.”

Bilbo blushes and coughs as he picks up his tea cup to take a sip. “Well, he is inked on my back, I think I’m supposed to be fond of him,” he mumbles.

“Of course,” Kili says as he winks. “What sort of dragon is Uncle Thorin?”

And that’s how Bilbo finds himself seated at the dining table again, explaining how he came to meet Thorin, more condensed than he had to the others. He tells them what Thorin looks like and they gape in awe at him. It makes his heart ache, to know Thorin has chosen solitude, when he has a family that loves and cares for him very much, a family that is doing their best to find a way to help him.

His nephews clearly idolize him and there is no hiding the pain in their eyes when they speak about their uncle. They tell Bilbo that he’s a good sort, brave and kind, courageous and welcoming, and that he helped raise them after their father passed away.

It makes Bilbo’s heart soar to hear it and his fingertips itch with the longing to go back to Thorin. To see him, to touch him, even if it’s to look into his amber eyes or feel his smooth scales. He wishes to be near Thorin again and something tells him that Thorin being his companion isn’t entirely the reason why.  
  
Fili and Kili say nothing more about it, however, and he enjoys conversation with them. They’re funny, kind, and seem genuinely interested in Bilbo and the Shire. The farthest west they’ve gone is to the Greenwood and they both didn’t seem to enjoy that at all. Bilbo tells them that they’re welcome anytime to Bag End, if they ever happen to be in the west, and they grin sweetly in return.

They leave the room after a while and go the family dining room, as Kili calls it, where Dis and Frerin are. They’ve finished their breakfast by then and have a good laugh when Fili and Kili tell them that Bilbo had eaten half the kitchens the moment he had woken up.

There is no talk about Thorin over tea and Bilbo feels relieved. Oh, he could certainly talk about Thorin all day and night, but not his predicament. He’s still got to work that out himself and they seem to realize that, as they leave him alone.

For a while anyway, he suspects.

They offer to show him around the mountain and he refuses to blush at the smiles they give him when he asks to be shown where Thorin likes to go most. Where he feels most at home.

They show him a great balcony off of yet another receiving room and though it’s high up, Bilbo immensely enjoys it. He can look south and see the wide open world. Plains and mountains, the Greenwood to his right, sloping hills to his left. It’s all cast in the beautiful morning light, a clear, cloudless day. He breathes in the fresh mountain air and something feels… right, in his heart. Something is settling there, in Erebor, something warm and comforting.

It feels like being at home.

The library is next and Bilbo isn’t entirely surprised that Thorin enjoys to read. Frerin teases that he likes the dry, boring books more than the fun and interesting ones. Dis mentions that he read all of those ones to Fili and Kili when they were younger and is more interested in history nowadays. It explains Thorin’s love of telling Bilbo of his ancestors and the great line of Durin’s histories.

It’s a journey through the mountain but Dis and Frerin insist on showing him Thorin’s workshop. He is a blacksmith, they explain, when he isn’t busy being a king. It’s a hobby he learned at a young age and is passionate about. Bilbo wonders why Thorin hadn’t mentioned it, but then… they haven’t spent all that long together, no matter what his heart has to say about the matter.

The forge isn’t huge by any means but it’s a comfortable space. There are swords and axes on the walls and tools on work tables. There are shelves of daggers and arrows and Bilbo feels his heart welling with something frighteningly like love. Thorin is a person, just like anyone else, with an entire life outside of the cave. He has passions and desires and deserves to be home.

They go back to the royal halls and Frerin says he must be off to a council meeting. Dis and Bilbo say goodbye and Dis turns to Bilbo.

“There is one more place I would like to show you,” she says with a smile.

“Please,” Bilbo says and follows her as she sets off down the hall.

They reach the end of it, where there are two large wooden doors, carved with runes and a crown of stars. Bilbo knows instantly what this room is and feels his heart begin to race.

Dis pushes the doors open and gestures for Bilbo to go inside.

It’s a huge room, with stone pillars carved ornately throughout it, and there are sapphires in the walls and floors that were never hewn. It’s a sitting room, mostly, with a private dining table in an alcove, and grand sofas and armchairs in front of two hearths. There are bearskin rugs on the floor that feel wonderfully soft under Bilbo’s feet. Different swords line the walls, along with portraits of majestic dwarves, and tapestries depicting many different moments in Erebor’s history.

But it’s the small things Bilbo notices most, like a pair of boots in front of another opened door, or a mug on the table that isn’t made of silver or gold, but wood, carved by hand and obviously well used.

He looks into the opened door and sees a study inside, with a large desk sitting in the middle of it. It’s another warm room but Bilbo suspects Thorin might spend far too much time in it. There are papers strewn across the desk, dots of ink on some, as if Thorin had left quickly one night and never returned.

There are bookshelves here and an endless amount of books. It’s Thorin’s own personal library and Bilbo’s heart constricts. He feels and sees Thorin everywhere he looks.

He doesn’t go into the bedroom. It feels wrong somehow, the ultimate private space a person might have, and he wonders if Thorin might be the one to show him it one day.

He tries to quickly forget that line of thought.

Dis doesn’t say anything when he returns to her. She’s been standing at the door watching him and she merely smiles and touches his arm before they leave Thorin’s rooms.

“Will you leave tomorrow?” she asks as they walk leisurely down the hall.

“Yes, I think so,” he says. “I don’t like leaving him by himself.”

“No,” Dis agrees with a smile. “You care greatly for my brother.”

“I think it comes with my mark,” Bilbo says, his cheeks warm. “But, erm, yes… I do.”

She’s quiet. “Tell him his family misses him. Tell him we await his return.”

Bilbo’s sigh is shaky. “Of course,” he murmurs.

The rest of his day is spent being visited by the Durin family now and then and he finds that he’s rather fond of them as well by evening. They make him feel as if he belongs, in the way that Thorin makes him feel as if he belongs.

 _Belonging_ is foreign to him.

He sleeps soundly that evening and takes breakfast with everyone in the morning, including Gandalf, Balin and Dwalin. There is no more pressure from anyone and when he packs up his belongings and follows them to the gates, he feels relieved. They’ve said their piece and he knows what he must do now.

It’s emotional, saying goodbye, and there are tears in Dis’s eyes when she hugs Bilbo. Frerin gives him a mighty clap on the shoulder and Dwalin grunts something that sounds like _go back to him, laddie._

Balin shakes his hand and Fili and Kili engulf him in a hug, fairly lifting him off of his feet. Kili mentions that Bilbo never showed them his mark but he promises to do so once he has returned with Thorin. Thorin the dwarf, Thorin the king.

And Gandalf and he ride off soon after, waving goodbye. Bilbo looks forward and at the Greenwood in the distance and smiles.  
  
——

They reach the forest as night falls. Bilbo leaves Myrtle with Gandalf and pats her nose goodbye. It’s growing dark but the dwarves had given him a torch when he had mentioned the darkness of the cave and he lights it to find his way back. He’s sure he could find his way back easily enough without it. The pull in his heart is so very strong.

Bilbo walks through the forest until he reaches the meadow. He smiles and sighs in relief to see the glow of fire inside the cave. He hurries to it and as he approaches the mouth of the cave, he sees amber eyes peering out at him.

“Bilbo,” Thorin says warmly as he meets Bilbo there.

“Hello, Thorin,” Bilbo says, his heart racing. He’s immensely relieved and happy to be back, even if he thinks he has a gargantuan effort ahead of him.

They move into the cave and settle themselves at the fire. Bilbo keeps up a stream of conversation, telling Thorin of his first impression of Erebor, and how very lovely it had been. He doesn’t tell Thorin of all that he had seen, but just enough for Bilbo to detect the warmth in Thorin’s heart.

“Gandalf and I ate supper. Delicious stew and a very good sourdough bread,” Bilbo says conversationally as he pulls out a loaf of the same kind of bread from his pack. He cuts off a slice and wraps it back up in the towel before he begins to munch on it. “And then Gandalf and I met with Balin.”

There’s some apprehension in the air now and Bilbo wonders how to proceed.

“Was he surprised by everything?”

“He’d actually heard of companion marks before,” Bilbo says with a smile. “So not entirely.”

“And… did he know of a way to break the curse?”

“He said they’ve been looking,” Bilbo says slowly. “But they haven’t found anything promising.”

He feels immense disappointment and some anger and hurries on, “They rather think that I’m the one meant to help you. As I told you the day we met.”

“How can you help me?” Thorin asks, somewhat petulantly. “You don’t know how to break curses. A kiss or killing a dark lord are not apt here, as you said.”

“Well, yes,” Bilbo says. “But I still think that I’m your best hope. You’re my mark for a reason, Thorin.” He swallows, sure that mentioning dragon sickness now would be a mistake. “Balin will continue looking and Gandalf will continue to wrack his brain while you and I work together.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Bilbo says. “We’ll figure it out, Thorin.”

They speak no more of it that night but Bilbo feels the anxiousness in Thorin’s heart. Bilbo doesn’t admonish him for not telling the truth about who he is and Thorin doesn’t apologize. Bilbo doesn’t tell Thorin many things that night himself and it seems to be an unspoken agreement that they won’t discuss it.

Their sleep is fitful but morning dawns bright and early.

Bilbo begins his mission. To show Thorin humanity and kindness, friendship and… warmth.  
  
Love.  
  
He speaks with Thorin about the Shire and the walking holidays he’s taken. He tells Thorin about his love of Rivendell and ignores how Thorin huffs and puffs about it. He tells Thorin of his love of everything that grows and that he would like to show Thorin his garden one day.

And Thorin tells Bilbo more of Erebor, of his own journeys across Middle Earth. He had gone to Gondor when he was a young lad and Bilbo marvels at his description of the white city.

Their days are spent like this. Talking to one another, opening up and sharing their lives, who they are.

Bilbo bathes in the stream and eats what Thorin hunts and visits Gandalf occasionally. It’s not hard to tell him that Thorin is a warm person but there are still signs of dragon sickness. Bilbo can feel the anger in Thorin’s heart and some days he snaps at Bilbo in the most unexpected ways. He might demand that Bilbo do more to help break the curse and accuse him of dallying and Bilbo feels on edge.

It feels wrong to not tell Thorin what he has come to learn about dragon sickness. He makes the mistake of musing aloud about the stone potentially being harmful one day and it results in their first true argument. Thorin yells and roars until Bilbo threatens to leave him. Thorin merely turns and leaves himself, flying off into the sunset, and doesn’t return until morning.

It’s frightening.

But after another few days, Bilbo makes his final mistake.

They’re discussing blacksmithing, as Thorin has finally opened up to Bilbo about it, and Bilbo laughs as Thorin tells him of his first few works and how poorly done they were.

“Your sister said you were the best at it that she’d ever seen.”

There’s a sudden, icy feeling in his heart and it constricts painfully, making him wince. He rubs his chest as Thorin remains quiet for a moment.

“You spoke with my sister?”

It’s asked very softly and Bilbo pauses, his heart skipping a beat. He looks up at Thorin and opens his mouth, then closes it. Blast his running mouth. He clears his throat and nods.

“Well… yes,” he says slowly. “She heard I was in the mountain and wanted to meet me. We spoke about you, a little, just about smithing and food—”

“You’re lying.”

It’s hissed in an inhuman way and Bilbo’s stomach lurches.

“When Balin heard why I was there, he told your sister. Of course she wanted to meet me, Thorin.”

“I forbade you from speaking with my family,” Thorin says, anger in every word, his eyes narrowed, his pupils a thin slit, even in the lower light of the cave.

Bilbo thinks he must tread carefully. “They miss you, Thorin. They asked me to help you where they can’t,” he says. “That’s all.”

“You spoke with all of them,” Thorin says with a cold laugh. “Did they tell you I was mad?”

“Of course they didn’t,” Bilbo says and frowns. “They wouldn’t think so.”

“That’s a lie,” Thorin snaps, a growl in his voice. “It goes both ways, Master Baggins. I can feel when you are lying to me.”

Bilbo takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I didn’t want you to be upset with me,” he says. “Your family wants nothing but the best for you. They… they understand what you’re going through, I think, but they are sorry for how they’ve treated you.”

“Understand what I am going through? I am _cursed!”_ Thorin roars, his voice echoing through the cave and causing Bilbo to jump. “How can they understand? No! They told you I have the dragon sickness, something they have accused me of having for years!”

Bilbo’s heart is thumping wildly and he carefully stands and holds his hands up. “Thorin, please—”

“Enough!” Thorin yells. “You believe them, do you not? I can feel it in your heart. You believe I am sick, that I have a sickness of the mind, you believe they are right!”

“They saw it, Thorin, they saw it as well as you did,” Bilbo says, stumbling over his words. “They saw it in your grandfather.”

 _“I am not my grandfather!”_ Thorin shouts, a true roar, his voice warped and beastly. “They heard my vision for Erebor and thought it was too ambitious and that I must be dragon mad!” He begins to pace the cave and shakes the ground as he does. As Bilbo attempts to backtrack, Thorin’s eyes turn toward him, flashing brilliantly in the firelight. “You. You are consorting with them.”

“Consorting?” Bilbo repeats. “I’m not _consorting_ with anyone, Thorin. I’m trying to help you! You… you weren’t cursed. There is no curse. This is dragon sickness, Thorin!”

“LIES!” Thorin screeches and the ground trembles. “You are as blind as they are!”

“Thorin, please, just listen to me,” Bilbo says hurriedly. “Please. Listen to _yourself._ I’m your own companion, I’m here to help. Dragon sickness has turned you into a dragon. Once you are yourself, you’ll go back to being a dwarf!”

“I am not ill,” Thorin hisses dangerously. He lowers his head closer to Bilbo, something wild in his eyes. “And I will not hear it. I will not hear it from a halfling who has met my family once and believed their lies. I will not hear it!”

Bilbo looks at Thorin. Truly looks at him.

There is madness in his eyes and Bilbo’s heart feels as if it is breaking in two. “Let me help you,” he pleads. “Please, Thorin, you’re so much more than this.”

“Do not speak to me of who I am,” Thorin growls. “You know nothing! You are merely a spy for them! A rat! You cannot break my curse!”

Bilbo watches Thorin, a crushing weight in his chest. “I can help you,” he says, even if he doesn’t believe it. “Let me help you!”

“I do not want your help!” Thorin says. “Shire rat! I do not want _you!_ You, who only thinks of your warm hearth, you who did not want to come to me to begin with! You, who would rather be in Erebor with my treacherous family than here with me!”

“Thorin—”

“Go! I do not want you here! You are the same as them! Go back to the Shire! Leave me in peace!”

Bilbo’s eyes sting. He looks at Thorin, at his heaving chest, at the madness in his eyes and feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I can’t help you,” he whispers, a terrible realization.

“You never could,” Thorin says coldly. “Leave. Go home, halfling. Never come here again. I am no companion of yours.”

It’s an immense, all encompassing hurt that lays over his heart to hear those words. Bilbo takes a step back at the sheer force of it, tears in his eyes. He turns away from Thorin and quickly packs his belongings. He’s trembling from head to toe and he can hear Thorin’s chest heaving and smell smoke in the air.

He looks at Thorin once more and Thorin snarls, baring his teeth.

“Go!”

And Bilbo does, running out of the cave, through the meadow and into the trees, without looking back.  
  
——  
  
Gandalf is disturbed by the news of what has happened when Bilbo stumbles into the camp to tell him. He frowns powerfully and mutters to himself for a while. Bilbo thinks it’s over, that this has all been for naught, until Gandalf tells him to let Thorin sleep on it for a day or two.

Somehow Bilbo thinks it won’t be nearly enough. His heart aches in a way it never has and he’s frightened for himself. Could this really be love? If it is, he’s not entirely sure he wants it. It’s painful, taking his breath away, and makes it impossible for him to sleep that night. He stares up at the stars and tries not to think about Thorin’s soothing breaths that he normally falls asleep to.

Or Thorin’s voice in his ear, singing a song of Durin, low and hauntingly beautiful.

There is silence except for the occasional rustle of leaves or a stick cracking in the forest. He’s acutely aware of all of the noises around him and his heart beats painfully all night long in fear.

It’s even harder the next day. He doesn’t eat anything and ignores Gandalf’s attempts to get him to have at least one slice of bread. Gandalf peers at him with concern but he doesn’t offer any comforts. He doesn’t know if it will be alright and Bilbo thinks that, for once, he could use the false comfort.

It’s not until late afternoon before Bilbo decides to go back to the cave. Gandalf comes with him and that makes the pain in Bilbo’s heart unbearable, to know that Gandalf is worried for his safety. He waits at the end of the meadow as Bilbo cautiously approaches the cave.

It’s empty.

There is no fresh firewood, no fresh food, no Thorin.

“Perhaps he’s off hunting,” Gandalf says quietly when Bilbo comes back to him.

Bilbo knows that isn’t it and he think Gandalf does too.

They wait for three days, staying in Gandalf’s camp, only venturing into the meadow a few times a day. Thorin is never there and the world feels just a little bit colder, despite the coming hot months. Bilbo’s heart feels empty with each passing day and, on the fourth morning, when Thorin still hasn’t returned, he looks at Gandalf.

“I want to go home.”

Gandalf looks immensely sorry but he doesn’t say anything. He merely nods and grasps Bilbo’s shoulder tightly.

They set off an hour later, heading south. Bilbo doesn’t look back at Erebor and tries not to think about the Durin family. He has failed them and he is too much of a coward to go back and tell them. He’ll write them once he’s in the Greenwood but he can’t face their sorrow. Their potential anger, even, for scaring Thorin away.

For being such a fool.

They arrive at the palace of the Greenwood two days later and Legolas hurries to greet them at the gates. He frowns as he looks at Bilbo, then away, downcast.

 _Come, mellon nin,_ is all he says and they enter the palace.

Bilbo locks himself away in the same room he’d had before and writes a letter. He’s properly apologetic, he thinks, but it’s not enough. His honesty is glaring on the pages and he hates that he is baring his heart to them. But still… it’s not enough. He was unable to return their brother to them. Their king.

He eats little after sending the letter and ignores Gandalf and Legolas’s calls to join feasts. It isn’t until his third day that someone knocks on his door and he answers, prepared to tell whoever has come to disturb him off.

Thranduil stands there and Bilbo gapes up at him.

“Erm… Your Majesty,” he says awkwardly and steps aside to let Thranduil enter. He sweeps into the room and gazes around at the mess on the small desk in the corner of the room and Bilbo’s untidy bed. Finally, he looks at Bilbo again.

“You have tasted the bitterness of love.”

Bilbo’s heart fractures just a little bit more and he looks at the desk as he tries to tidy up.

“I suppose I have,” he says. “What can I do for you, my king?”

Thranduil is silent for a while. He walks to the bed and sits down, one leg gracefully crossing the other. It’s a little comical looking, as the bed is dwarf-sized and he is the tallest elf Bilbo has seen. But he finds he can’t even smile at the image.

“There is still hope for Thorin,” Thranduil says quietly, in that slow way of his.

Bilbo looks quickly at him, his mouth hanging open, and blinks a little. “But… how do you know?”

“There is always hope,” he says. “Even for dwarves.”

“Do you know of a way?” Bilbo asks, ignoring the barb.

Thranduil peers at him, his head tilted to the side. “Love is a powerful cure for many things,” he says. “But it can take time.”

“He’s _gone,”_ Bilbo says miserably. “How can he know how I feel, the love that I feel, if he isn’t around to see it?” He doesn’t see the point hiding any of it - Thorin, his mark, his love. What does it matter now?

“He has already seen it. One day he will even realize it.”

Bilbo sniffles. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly. “I failed him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never thought of me again.”

“Do not give up so easily,” Thranduil says with a faint smile. “Love, while felt quickly, grows as time goes on. And, as they say… absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Bilbo doesn’t particularly believe in that. He’s never loved anyone, but he thinks that absence will make love disappear. He will no doubt love Thorin for the rest of his life but Thorin must hate him now. Thorin’s love, if there is any, will diminish.

“I don’t think I’ll see him again,” he says. “But I’ll always hope that he returns to himself. That he returns to his family.”

“He will. One day,” Thranduil says as he stands. “Wait for him.”

He bows his head and sweeps out of the room as quickly as he had come.

Bilbo looks at his closed door, not feeling much better. He’ll wait until his dying day for Thorin, but… he thinks it will be a life full of an everlasting pain doing so. Perhaps his comeuppance for what he has done to Thorin.

They leave the Greenwood the next day and begin the journey home.

——

Bilbo doesn’t pick any new summer flowers. He merely watches the landscapes pass them by, great valleys and mountain ranges. Gandalf and he don’t speak very much and Bilbo thinks that the journey might take forever.

But it doesn’t. They pass over the Anduin and through the Misty Mountains with little hindrances. It grows hot and Bilbo feels mildly ill every day, a nausea he can’t get rid of. He wonders if it’s a broken heart and, for the first time, regrets getting his mark.

It would have been easier without it. His adventure certainly was quite different than the great tales.

Lord Elrond looks at Bilbo with sorrow in his eyes as they arrive in Rivendell but he asks no questions. They are treated as old friends, with warmth and a sense of belonging. Bilbo thinks that, since Erebor cannot be, Rivendell could be home. But he must get back to the Shire for now. It’s something to think of for another day.

His pain doesn’t lessen the closer he gets to home. It feels as if it only gets worse, the longing within him nearly unbearable some days. He can feel the pull trying to take him back east, trying to take him back to Thorin, but he ignores it. It grows cold and heavy in his chest and feels as if he is carrying an additional weight that was never there before.

He sees Lord Elrond and Gandalf whispering at dinners but he ignores them in favor of many glasses of wine.

They leave Rivendell after a few days and Bilbo says goodbye with some regrets. He knows he is poor company and that the elves are truly very kind but he isn’t particularly sure how to be glad of friendship right now. He isn’t particularly sure how to be glad of anything.

They ride to Bree but only stop for luncheon. Bilbo is eager to get back home and he tells Gandalf so. They make the final ride to the Shire.

The rolling green hills are a balm for Bilbo’s heart and he gazes around, relieved and ill all at once. He is home, where he truly belongs, no matter what his fanciful thoughts have to say about the matter. They ride into Hobbiton and the smell of baking bread and sweet flowers and pipeweed smoke draws tears to Bilbo’s eyes.

He’s home, yes, and there is relief in that, but he finds that there is a hatred in his heart, a hatred that is his own and not Thorin’s.

He can feel Thorin, faintly. Their connection has been broken in many ways but there is anger and heartbreak that isn’t entirely his own in his chest. He thinks that will fade in time as well.

As they ride to the top of the hill, he sees hobbits shake their heads at him and ignores them. What do they know, anyway, of adventure and of a companion mark that has led to a special sort of love? What do they know of anything? Of Bilbo?

Bag End is clean and tidy, no new layers of dust, and his garden looks brilliant. Hamfast has been keeping up with everything and Bilbo reminds himself that he must give him gold and baked treats, if he can find it within himself to bake anything at all.

Gandalf stays for two days, helping Bilbo to get used to being home again, and chases everyone off who comes to knock at his door. But Bilbo hears their whispers outside.

Missus Sackville-Baggins says _he’s odder than ever and the Shire was a better place without him._

Mister Smallburrow says _that’s what an adventure will do to you, make you odder than before. It’s why we don’t go on them, see._

Mister Gamgee shouts _you leave Mister Bilbo alone and mind your own business. He’s done nothin’ to you and he doesn’t want any visitors, especially none that gossip at his door!_

It takes Bilbo three days after Gandalf has left before he decides to visit Hamfast. Ham and Bell have left food at Bilbo’s door and though he can barely get through it, it’s enough to keep him going. He cannot stomach a trip to the market and they seem to realize as much. He owes the Gamgee family so much and finally, after moping through his days, he decides it’s time to thank them.

Hamfast and Bell welcome him in with open arms. Their children are suspiciously quiet in front of him and well-behaved, far more than usual, and Bilbo suspects that their parents have told them to be this way around him. He decides to tell them a tale of a dragon merely to see them grin and laugh again. It hurts to speak of Thorin but Bilbo warps the tale into something else and watches as the children begin to play a game of hobbits and dragons once he’s done.

He takes tea with Bell and Hamfast in their kitchen. They don’t push him or ask him many questions but he can’t stand to be treated so delicately.

So he tells them.

He tells them of his journey across Middle Earth, of meeting elves, of seeing mountains and incredible forests. He tells them of meeting his companion and watches their shock as he tells them who Thorin really was. They believe him, he can see, with no question, and he wonders what he has done to deserve such wonderful friends. They listen to his heartache, to his longing, but they don’t judge him for what he has done to Thorin.

Hamfast is adamant that Bilbo has done nothing wrong, that he meant the best, but Bilbo knows it’s his fault Thorin had disappeared.

“You may yet see him again,” Hamfast says. “One day.”

“There is always hope, Bilbo,” Bell whispers as she grasps his hand.

Bilbo has heard the words before and still can’t bring himself to believe them.

Hamfast and Bell don’t wish to take his gold but Bilbo insists on it. He has taken them away from their children to maintain his smial, after all, and when he reminds him of this they reluctantly take it. They are both much more eager to receive a pie or two when Bilbo promises to bring them some.

He goes home, feeling a bit lighter, but only enough that he finds his appetite slowly coming back.

Sleep is still fitful, full of nightmares and scales black as night, amber eyes, wings that blot out the sun.  
  
His days creep by, filled with exhaustion and memories. He bakes when he can and gifts pies and scones and breads to Hamfast and his family. He gardens and smokes his pipe on the smoking bench and tries not to think of the east.

Of vast mountain ranges, of a lonely peak, of dwarves and elves and dragons.

That’s behind him now and, one day, he knows it won’t feel real. It’s already starting to feel that way, he thinks, when he sits down with the intention of writing down some of his tale. But it’s too fresh, an open wound that he doesn’t want to fester.  
  
He merely tries to get through his days without any tears.

Three weeks after Bilbo has been home, he hears a disruption outside, and thinks there must be a party in the Party Field. One he wasn’t invited to, naturally, but that doesn’t surprise him. There are still whispers of his oddness, especially in the market now that Bilbo has been forced to go. He tries not to think about it but the idea of parading shirtless for all to see his mark does amuse him some days.

The disruption gets louder and closer and Bilbo frowns from the sitting room. There is some strange screaming outside and his stomach churns uncomfortably. It doesn’t feel quite right.

It’s voices, he realizes after a while, an argument. There are multiple people shouting and it sounds as if they’re coming up the hill. He quickly stands and goes to his window, peeking outside. He groans.

There’s a small mob outside being led by Fortinbras and Lobelia, who is dressed obnoxiously in pink and white with a delicate blue parasol swinging above her head.

They’ve likely come to run him out of Hobbiton at last.

He moves to the wall, out of sight of the windows, and closes his eyes tightly as he hears them enter his garden.

“Quiet down!” Fortinbras hollers.

There’s a polite knock at his door.

Fortinbras is the Thain of the Shire and he lives in Tuckborough. It’s a fourteen mile journey and doesn’t bode well for Bilbo that he’s made it.

“Bilbo Baggins! I know you’re in there!” Lobelia shrieks. “It’s just like you, to bring this sort of oddness to the Shire!”

Bilbo frowns and wonders what Lobelia thinks he’s done now. Perhaps a wolf has wandered too close to their borders, dragged in by his odd aura. He giggles a little at the thought.

“I’ll handle this,” Fortinbras’s voice says, annoyed. “Bilbo? Are you in there, lad? There’s something you should see. Urgently.”

“Our lives are in your hands!” Lobelia yells. Very dramatically, in Bilbo’s opinion.

“Alright, you clucking hens!” Hamfast’s voice appears at the door, loud and angry. “Mister Bilbo will help us if we just ask! It’s not his fault that he’s here!” He harrumphs and knocks lightly. “Mister Bilbo, you’ve got a… visitor.”

Bilbo’s heart begins to race, his pulse beating painfully in his neck, and his hands tremble.

A visitor.

_It’s not his fault that he’s here!_

He who?

Bilbo feels an immense disappointment. Of course it must be Gandalf. The hobbits of the Shire certainly aren’t fond of wizards and it’s always Bilbo’s fault whenever Gandalf comes traversing through. They’ve never gathered at his door because of it but he supposes he’s pushed them to the brink with his little adventure.

He sighs as he straightens out his waistcoat and goes to the door. He unlocks and opens it, looking at the crowd on his doorstep. Hamfast and Fortinbras look apologetic but Lobelia is sneering more hatefully than usual. And she’s carrying a carving knife.

Perhaps she’s finally come to murder him. He always thought it would be in his sleep.

“What is it?” he asks tiredly. “Has Gandalf come ‘round again?”

“Gandalf! If only that wizard were here!” Lobelia shrieks.

Fortinbras holds up his hand for quiet. “It’s not Gandalf,” he says mildly. “He’s… larger. He came to Tuckborough first but we… well, escorted him here.”

Bilbo swallows dryly as he gapes between them, then at Hamfast. Ham is holding his hat to his chest and he nods at Bilbo, something gleaming in his eyes.

“He says he’s your companion,” Lobelia says somewhat hysterically. “A beast! A dragon, Bilbo! You’re attracting _dragons_ now!”

“He _is_ my companion mark,” Bilbo says faintly as he grabs on to his doorframe in an attempt to not collapse.

They all gasp and turn pale, excluding Hamfast, who beams at Bilbo.

“A speaking dragon?!” Lobelia shouts. “He can’t be a companion mark! He’s promised not to eat us for now but if you don’t go tell him to leave and never come back, he may just change his mind!”

“He won’t eat anyone unless I ask him to,” Bilbo says mildly. “Think on that for a while, Lobelia.”

There are scandalized gasps this time but Bilbo ignores them as he pushes his way into the mob, closing his door behind him. He feels very close to panicking, his heart racing, and an odd tingling shooting up his spine. And now that he thinks about it, the pull is stronger than it has been in some weeks. The longing… yes, there it is, wrapped cozily around his heart.

He wonders how long it has been there, hiding underneath his sorrow.

But… why would Thorin be here? It boggles his mind. Has Thorin come to take his revenge on Bilbo?

“He was awful polite,” Hamfast says as he comes to stand at Bilbo’s side. He looks apprehensive but there’s a secret smile on his lips that makes Bilbo’s heart beat in a different way.

“He wasn’t angry?”

“Not even a bit, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast says lowly.

“If you don’t do anything about that dragon, I will send for the Rangers!” Lobelia says from somewhere behind him.

Bilbo ignores her. “Where is he, Ham?”

“Er… not far,” Hamfast says. He points across the village.

There, at the end of the road into Hobbiton, stands a dragon.

Bilbo gasps as he sets eyes on Thorin for the first time in a few very long months. He’s huge and shining magnificently in the sun, a rainbow of colors dashed across his black scales. Bilbo can’t see his amber eyes but he suspects they are looking in his direction.

He’s beautiful. He’s perfect. He’s Bilbo’s, in another life.

“Stay here,” he orders his fellow hobbits without looking at them. “He’s my companion and this is between us.”

“Companions can’t _talk,”_ Lobelia whines.

Bilbo sets off down the lane, his legs feeling like Aunt Mira’s gelatin, and his hands shaking wildly at his sides. He stares at Thorin as he crosses the village and when he’s close enough, he finally sees Thorin’s brilliantly amber eyes. They are gazing steadily at him and Bilbo feels as if his heart may well burst out of his chest.

He stands on one side of the hedge, while Thorin looms over the other.

“Hello, Thorin,” he says very quietly.  
  
Thorin stares down at him, his eyes strangely soft, strangely human.

“Bilbo,” he murmurs.

They don’t say anything for another moment and just when Bilbo is about to ask Thorin why he is here, Thorin says, “I lost you.”

Bilbo’s heart skips a beat. “Thorin…”

“Bilbo, please, listen to me,” Thorin says as he leans his neck down, moving closer to Bilbo. “I lost you. I chased you away… I let you leave. I have made many mistakes in my life, but none such as this.”

Bilbo sniffs. His eyes sting. “I chased _you_ away.”

“You did no such thing,” Thorin rumbles. “It was not your fault. I refused to listen to you when you tried to talk sense into me. When… you told me the truth, of what I had become. Forgive me, Bilbo, I was too blind to see.”

“It’s alright,” Bilbo says breathlessly. Thorin looks unsure and Bilbo reaches out until Thorin’s eyes soften further and he leans in. He nudges the end of his nose against Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo inhales sharply to feel his smooth scales, something he never thought he would feel again. “You’re here,” he whispers.

“I wish to never part from you again,” Thorin says forcefully. “Forgive me for not coming sooner.”

“Where did you go?” Bilbo asks in a small voice. “I stayed there for days but you never returned.”

“I flew east,” Thorin says and sounds incredibly pained. “I flew until I couldn’t anymore. Until I reached a black sea that I have never read about. I stayed on its shores, lost… lost in my madness. I stayed there, hearing voices, yours, mine, my family’s. I could hear what you said… that I was much more than this. I could hear my sister tell me I was becoming my grandfather.” His eyes close. “And myself, most of all, denying that I was him, when I am exactly as he was.”

Bilbo runs both of his hands along Thorin’s nose as he gazes up at him. “You aren’t your grandfather,” he says. “You’re Thorin.”

Thorin chuckles as he looks at Bilbo. “I’m sorry that I forgot that,” he says. “I’m sorry that it took me this long to remember.” He sighs shakily. “I looked at my reflection in the sea and saw a dragon looking back. The proof of my illness. I wish not to be ill anymore, Bilbo. I wish not to be ill or parted from you… I wish to stay with you, in your arms, as myself.”  
  
He closes his eyes.

“I wish to be Thorin once again.”  
  
Bilbo wraps his arms as well as he can around Thorin’s nose and clings to him, pressing his cheek against his warm scales. He sniffs and squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re Thorin,” he repeats. “You’re my Thorin. My companion and… and my friend. My love.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispers. _“Ghivashel.”_

Bilbo presses his lips to Thorin’s snout and gently kisses him.

And suddenly, there is no Thorin in his arms. Bilbo gasps as he staggers a step forward, opening his eyes wide. There’s a strange black cloud surrounding him and his heart and stomach lurch together.

“Thorin!”

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s heart shutters as he looks through the cloud, which is dissipating in a swift breeze. And there, standing on the other side of the hedge, stands a figure.

A dwarf.

He’s dressed in a furred coat, his long black hair streaked with silver swaying in a breeze. He sways where he stands, nearly stumbling, but he looks down at his hands. He turns them over for a time before he looks up and at Bilbo through the now clear air. There is awe on his face.

Bilbo slowly approaches him, every inch of him light as air. He stops in front of the dwarf and lifts his hands, pressing them to the dwarf’s bearded cheeks. There is a long, neat braid on his chin, ended with a silver bead that has a crown of seven stars. Bilbo looks into his eyes, blue as the sky.

“Thorin,” he whispers thickly, tears in his eyes. “My Thorin.”

Thorin reaches up and holds Bilbo’s wrists, his eyes searching Bilbo’s. They’re shining with tears of his own and a soft, wounded noise leaves his throat. He surges forward, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s. “My Bilbo,” he says, his voice breaking.

They breathe each other’s air until Bilbo can’t stand not looking into Thorin’s eyes. He pulls back and when Thorin looks at him, there are fresh tear tracks on his cheeks and his eyes are red-rimmed. Bilbo brushes the tears away and smiles.

“You’re beautiful, Thorin,” he says. “Positively lovely.”

Thorin chuckles wetly. “As are you,” he says. “You were wrong, before.”

Bilbo frowns.

“A kiss was just what I needed.”

Bilbo laughs and throws his arms around Thorin’s middle. “If only I had done it before!” he says as he clings to him. To his dwarf.

“I think I needed to be ready first,” Thorin says as he hugs Bilbo tightly in return. He noses at his hair, his hands squeezing Bilbo’s sides. “I needed to see.”  
  
“What do you see now?”

“The world,” Thorin says into Bilbo’s ear. “Brighter and sharper than before. Life… more precious than ever. And you, _ghivashel…_ you.”

Bilbo looks at Thorin then, into his eyes, and smiles. “Welcome back to the world, Thorin. To life. Welcome back home, to me,” he says and leans in.

Thorin meets him halfway and they kiss and it is so easy, as natural as breathing. Bilbo’s arms sneak around Thorin’s neck and he holds on to him for all he is worth. And Thorin kisses him in front of all to see, with longing and passion and a fierce love.

They don’t separate for a while, but when they do, Bilbo takes up Thorin’s hand. He leads him through the village and smiles at anyone that gapes at them. Some hobbits are shaking their heads, as they are wont to do, and Bilbo feels… giddy. He laughs freely and Thorin laughs at his side, without knowing the reason why.

They walk up the hill, where the mob still is, and they stare at Thorin in shock and with a great amount of suspicion.

“Don’t worry, Lobelia,” Bilbo says as he passes her and walks through his garden. “He’s only a dragon when he wants to be!”

And he takes Thorin inside and they both forget the outside world for a time.

They make love that night, a desperate need shared between them, and Bilbo thinks that… he may not have a companion in the traditional sense, but he has a companion all the same. A lover, someone to help guide him in life, a best friend. Thorin is what Bilbo needs him to be and they are what each other needs… what each other wants.

They have much to speak of but tonight it’s the slide of skin on skin and a sweet bliss Bilbo has never known. Thorin kisses him like a man drowning and Bilbo merely holds on, hoping that his love is poured into every small movement, every loving sigh, every mark left on pale skin.

And he thinks… _destiny. I’ve finally found it. My path, my place, my part in this wide world. And it’s at his side._

——

They don’t speak on matters more serious than what to make for dinner for three days. The world doesn’t exist outside of Bag End, as far as they’re concerned, but eventually food stocks run low and Bilbo thinks they must come back to the real world. Bliss and peace, that’s the Shire, he thinks, but the real world is out there, another home, far to the east of there.

Bilbo and Thorin leave the smial once Thorin’s clothes have been cleaned and dried, as he has no others, and go to the marketplace. They make quite a spectacle and Bilbo hears the whispers.

Mister Goodchild says _there’s that dragon we saw. More of a dwarf now, but I’ve got my eye on him._

Missus Lightfoot whispers _look at them, holding hands the way they are, Mister Bilbo has finally found someone as odd as him._

Missus Sandyman says _always knew he’d end up the most strange of us all… with a dwarf! What would his father think?_

And Bilbo laughs, because he knows his father would approve of the journey his companion mark took him on. It was his path, after all, and all hobbits are supposed to follow on their paths, no exceptions.  
  
Oddness, while frowned upon, has _many_ benefits.

“Alright, you lot! That’s enough!” Hamfast says. “Mind your own!”

Bilbo smiles as he steps up to Bell’s cart. “Good morning,” he says mildly as Ham and Bell look at Thorin with something near glee.

“Good mornin’, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast says. He’s nearly bouncing in excitement as he thrusts his hand out to Thorin. “Hello, Thorin, sir! We’ve heard a great deal about you!”

Thorin shakes Hamfast’s hand with a small smile. “As I have heard of you,” he says. “Thank you for everything you have done… for Bilbo and I both.”

Hamfast turns pink but he positively beams. “My pleasure, o’course,” he says. Then louder, “Mister Bilbo’s the finest friend any hobbit could hope to have!”

Bilbo blushes and coughs a little as he looks over the pastries in Bell’s cart.

“Aye,” Thorin murmurs as he gazes fondly at Bilbo. “The finest friend a dwarf could hope to have as well.”

“Oh, stop,” Bilbo mutters, but he finds he can’t stop smiling. “Thank you both. We’ll take two mince pies, Bell.”

She grins as she packs them up and winks. “You two make for a fine couple,” she says. “No finer in the Shire… except perhaps Ham and I.”

Bilbo chuckles, his cheeks still warm. “I’ll gladly follow in your steps,” he says as he takes the pies and adds them to the basket hanging on Thorin’s arm. “Will you come around for tea soon?”

They make plans for tea and Hamfast heartily shakes Thorin’s hand once more before they move on. They finish their shopping and head to Bag End with groceries for the week and Bilbo thinks… _it’s time, isn’t it?_

Thorin is quiet as they put away groceries and Bilbo wonders if he’s had a similar thought. They’ve avoided the topic thus far but it must be discussed, no matter how nervous it makes Bilbo.

“Thorin—”

“Bilbo—”

They chuckle and Thorin gestures for Bilbo to continue.

“Well, erm… maybe we should sit down,” he says. “I’ll make some tea.”

Thorin goes to the sitting room as Bilbo makes tea and sets biscuits on a serving tray. He takes it into the sitting room and sits across from Thorin in his father’s armchair. He looks at Thorin, who happens to be caught in a ray of sunlight, reflecting a rainbow of colors along his black hair, the silver streaks shining white. His eyes are enchantingly blue and he looks so very… Thorin.

His dwarf, his love, his companion… his king, he thinks.

They sip their tea and Bilbo nibbles on a biscuit as he gathers his thoughts. Thorin waits patiently, merely gazing at him with the same softness in his eyes that he’s always had, and Bilbo’s heart flutters.

“We need to speak about Erebor,” Bilbo says finally.

Thorin bows his head. “Aye, that we do,” he says quietly.

“You have to return.”

“I do.”

“When… do you think you will?”

Thorin doesn’t answer for a while. There’s a smile on his lips, though, and he edges forward in the chair and holds his hand out to Bilbo. Bilbo takes it, his hand small in Thorin’s larger one, and Thorin’s thumb rubs over his own.

“When you agree to be my husband,” he says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Whether that be now or years from now… I will stay with you, until you are ready to return to Erebor, as my consort.”

Bilbo’s fingertips tingle and he breathes shallowly as he watches Thorin. He breathes out heavily as he squeezes Thorin’s hand. “Well,” he says, “we may be journeying back to Erebor very soon then.”

Thorin looks stunned and stares at Bilbo for a while, and doesn’t seem to be breathing. “Truly?” he finally asks with a great, trembling sigh.

“Of course,” Bilbo says. “But I thought we might get married here first. Perhaps on September 22nd. It’s a very lucky day, in my opinion.”

There are tears in Thorin’s eyes and he grins painfully wide, his gaze full of love, of longing, and Bilbo meets him halfway there as they surge toward each other. It’s not hard to become lost in each other’s touch but eventually Bilbo does pull away, laughing as he clutches the front of Thorin’s shirt.

“A lucky day, indeed,” Thorin says warmly, a bit out of breath. “A perfect day to get married.” He rubs Bilbo’s thigh. “When would you like to return to Erebor? The following spring?”

“Might as well leave in March,” Bilbo says dryly. “A good month to start an adventure, I think.”

Thorin chuckles and nods. “Very well,” he says. “I have a stone to destroy as soon as we return.”  
  
Bilbo’s heart soars and he smiles as he squeezes Thorin’s hand.  
  
“I must write my family. What should I say?”

“Hmm,” Bilbo hums, smiling mischievously at Thorin, “I think I know just the thing.”

——

_To Dis, Frerin, Fili and Kili,_

_We’re coming home. Await our arrival in May._

_Love,_

_Bilbo and Thorin_

——

Thorin fits in well in the Shire. He’s very good at chasing away the naysayers and an entire fortnight goes by before Bilbo sees Lobelia again. She keeps her distance and Bilbo thinks it’s a marvelous change. There aren’t anymore whispers about his oddness that he hears and he is endlessly thankful to Thorin and Hamfast, who he suspects has a good deal to do with it.

They enjoy the coming fall with many treats, apple strudels and blackberry pies, and Thorin grows rounder around the middle. It’s a good look on him, even if Bilbo is sure it’ll be gone by the time they reach Erebor. He’ll simply have to continue cooking for Thorin in the kitchens there.

Their wedding is beautiful, themed with bluebells and white roses. Half of the Shire turns up to watch Bilbo marry a dwarf that was once a dragon and Bilbo isn’t entirely surprised when Thorin becomes the center of attention. He’s more than happy to not be the center of things for once and though Thorin seems overwhelmed, he enjoys himself. He plays with the children of Hobbiton and tells everyone a tale of a dragon and a hobbit. He drinks and dances and keeps Bilbo by his side through all of it.

They spend their night as husband and husband locked away in Bag End’s master bedroom and don’t bother coming out until the next afternoon.

Winter comes and goes with white flurries and days spent curled in front of the hearth, wrapped around each other, cocooned in thick blankets.  
  
Time moves at the right pace, Bilbo thinks, not too quickly or slowly.  
  
Spring dawns a few days before the first of March, pink and white and yellow flowers springing up from the snow, and the birds come out to sing, heralding a new season.  
  
They buy a cart and two ponies and the day that they arrive, Bilbo has tears in his eyes.

They aren’t of sorrow, however, and Thorin seems to understand as much, as he merely smiles and kisses Bilbo’s temple.

He’s saying goodbye to Bag End, which will go to Hamfast, as well as all of the properties he owns. Bag End is meant for a large family after all, and it’s a shame that it was never filled with one. Now its halls will know numerous generations and Bilbo’s heart is gladdened to know it.

Bilbo writes his will and very pointedly leaves nothing to Lobelia.

And then the day comes that all of the belongings he has decided to take with him are packed on the cart and the ponies are readied, fed and watered for the beginning of their long journey.

Hamfast and Bell meet Bilbo at the top of the hill and they embrace each other for a long while.

Hamfast is crying and Bilbo feels rather like doing so himself but he just manages to hold it in. He pats Hamfast’s shoulder and kisses Bell’s cheek and climbs into the cart as Thorin says his own goodbyes.

It isn’t for forever, Bilbo knows. One day he will come to the Shire to visit, to see Ham and his family, to see his numerous cousins. But for now, he looks east and feels something _right_ settle in his heart.

He’s going home.

Their journey is long but uneventful. Lord Elrond smiles warmly when they visit and gifts them two very interesting swords, and the owners of the inns Bilbo had stayed at with Gandalf cheer to see him again, and the elves of the Greenwood sing their joyous songs to welcome them.

Thranduil arches his eyebrows at Bilbo and lifts his wine goblet during a feast.

And Bilbo raises his in return and thinks he will never lose hope again.

He will never be parted from Thorin again and his heart thumps steadily in his chest at the thought, filled with the warmth of love and comfort of happiness.

And soon they are before Erebor, a magnificent peak, shining brightly above them in the evening sunlight. It is cast in pinks and purples and Bilbo closes his eyes, holding the memory of it close, so that he may never forget it.

Dis, Frerin, Fili and Kili await them on the bridge. Balin and Dwalin are just behind them and they all wear a warm smile.

Dis engulfs her brother in a hug and looks up at him when she has pulled back, her hand on his cheek. “Welcome home,” she says and embraces Bilbo next. “Both of you.”

He looks at her and the rest of the line of Durin and smiles. “I am home,” he says softly.

“We are,” Thorin murmurs as he takes up Bilbo’s hand and kisses the back of it.

“Yes,” Bilbo says and looks up at the Lonely Mountain towering above him. “We’ve followed the long path to get here and now we’ve arrived.”

And it is a life filled with adventure, and love, and a companionship that lasts through this life and the great beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all like it. I'm a bit nervous about it. Kudos and comments would be so very appreciated. They help to keep me writing. Thank you!
> 
> Thank you again to Ebba, Erin, Navy, Dis and Becka. For your support and kind words. <3
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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